


Born of Stone and Sky

by Jarakrisafis



Series: Isana [10]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24644395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: A Conclave has been called to find a solution to the internal chism in the Chantry as mages strive to break free from its control. The result could have a huge impact on the lyrium trade throughout Ferelden.The Dwarven Carta is built on the supply and demand of lyrium. Especially the Ferelden cell, given it holds the land through which all trade has to pass to reach Orzammar. It could be a big enough change that the Dasher can't trust an underling to such a mission. He'll have to go himself, after all, his entire operation could be at stake.
Series: Isana [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568344





	1. Chapter 1

There is a moment, between before sleeping and after waking where one must stop and recall those last moments. The fact that you lay down, that you were trying to sleep and most important, if you were alone or not. After all trying to kill a bed partner is incredibly rude if you were the one that actually invited them to bed. Generally this is a gentle process, this transition from before to after, a minute of reflection on the last thoughts of the day before that change to thoughts of the day to come.

Occasionally the memories from the day before do not contain the all important trying to sleep, instead the last thoughts are cut off, a warning that sleep was not voluntary. Of course there's usually a headache involved for that sort of waking. Dwarven skulls are pretty hard so you've got to give them a fair whack to forcefully send one of us unconcious.

And then there are those times that don't fall into either of those categories, sometimes those last moments are slower to return, but the haze caused by drugs or alcohol are not easily mistaken for anything else. Alcohol is easiest to remember, before the fog is usually a clear memory of walking into the tavern and ordering a drink, or if you're on the surface and drinking the weak swill they call ale, several drinks. Drugs are harder to parse, they leave a fog that's slower to clear, especially poisons.

I've been drunk enough in my youth and been hit with enough attempted poisonings to know that this is neither of those.

Now, in the moment after waking it is to the realisation that the before sleeping is simply gone. An uncomfortable void in my memories that should be filled with a linear explanation of what happened and why I am here. I do not forget. The ground is beneath, the sky is above, the sun rises, Edric Cadash remembers.

Except this time, I do not.

Imagine, if you will, a handful of die cast across an ale soaked table in a tavern, coin scattered over the pockmarked surface and a blade slammed down in the centre. The participants of the game shouting over each other, laughing as the die are collected for another throw. That's the state of my mind. Memories shifting in and out of place, fleeting glimpses that won't stay still, ever changing like the face of a dice as it tumbles across that table.

...

"What's that?"

I stare down the corridor, head cocked as I try to pick up anything. The mage I was just trading with stows his purchase and nods his head at me. "I can't be seen here."

"Yeah, yeah," I wave him away. The potions I'm carrying aren't illegal but the dust very much is given it wasn't on the inventory I showed to the Templar guard. Never mind that I'm selling to both factions at the moment, being caught isn't what either side wants. Or me, they get caught I lose my buyers.

"Help me." I frown as this time the words echo down the corridor. The fuck is going on? Guess I get to go break up some mage templar fight or something before it turns into an all out battle and ruins the talks.

...

"Edric, Lyrium trader, " I say as I haul on the reins to slow Little Sod to a stop, "and one of my lads." I jerk my thumb at Derrik who's riding the pony at the moment.

"Trader?" The Templar who's stepped up to my cart says, disbelief coating the words so thickly I could probably cut them. "Smuggler more like."

"Hey now, I've got papers." I reach into my coat and pull them out with a flourish. "Signed by House Aeducan no less. I'm all above board and legal."

The Templar takes his time looking them over, no doubt scrutinising every line to spot something out of place so he can confiscate our cart. In the end the faint slump of his shoulders lets me know there's nothing he can find. "Go left past the first column," he waves us forwards, leaning in towards me before we've got any speed up, "Having papers does not make you legal, Dwarf."

I lean down and smile, "but it does make me legal in the eyes of the law." I click at Sod and whistle a jaunty tune as we roll past them.

...

"Be fucking careful Boss."

"I will. You know I can't leave this to any of the boys. It's too important."

"I know," Lantos claps me on the back, "don't mean I have to like it."

"We'll meet you in Redcliffe when it's all done with." I say, hitching the pony to the back of the cart and pulling myself up to perch on top of the furs we have stacked over the lyrium. My youngest lad clicks at Little Sod until the she grudgingly starts plodding forwards. "Try not to get into too much trouble Lantos."

"Ha. Back at you Boss."

...

That's no magic I've ever seen. Not that I'm an expert on magic. Most I'm used to is enchanting and the less flashy sort of thing the mages trade with. Runework for heating rocks to warm a bed or embroidery work that helps protect against the cold. Low level mages are generally more use than those that study big flashy explosions. or they were. Right now big and flashy is probably more useful against the Templars as the other option is to keep your head down and not use your magic so they don't catch you.

This, this is... Sickly red, a binding. Something I've never seen and what can a Dwarf do against magic like that? the only way to dispel it is to kill its creator. Who, quite frankly, doesn't look like he's going down against a threat he can see. If I'd been able to creep up on him, I could totally take him, there's very little that can survive having its throat cut when they didn't see the blow coming.

Run, she says. I think that's a very good idea.

...

"Can't we trade up here for what we need?"

"No. This is looking to take longer than I expected, If it carries on like this I'd rather have extra supplies and that means going back to Haven. Unless you want to waste all our profit on the convenience of not making that trip?" Apparently a few passes are blocked by snow so it might take a few more days for everyone who's meant to be coming to actually arrive. Those trading food have put their prices up, easy profit as most who are already here don't look like they want to make the round trip to Haven and back for cheaper stuff.

He sighs. "Fine, whatever. I'll just leave you up here alone, nobody to watch your back or help keep you warm at night. I mean, you're over fifty now dad, should you be spending so much time sleeping on the ground? You might get a bad back."

"I'm old not decrepit you fucking asshole," he dodges the bread roll I throw at him, and darts in to pinch another. "Stop worrying about me, Little Sod will bite anyone that gets too close," I point out and the bronto shifts at her name from where she's tied just out of range of my tent so she doesn't try and eat the canvas.

Derrik laughs as he swings onto the pony and stows the bread in the saddlebag. "I'll be back with the extra supplies tomorrow night. Don't get into trouble while I'm gone."

"What trouble could I get into in one night? I'll be fine. Go on, get."

...

Above all though, I remember green. Bright and swirling. The ground was not the ground and the sky was no longer the sky. Falling and climbing. Snatches of memories of people and conversations that seem to echo around all mixed with the acid green of nowhere and everywhere.

There is nothing more to be gained by trying to remember now. It will return or it will not. Focus on the now is a priority, for I am well aware of the touch of steel at my wrists. And not simple cuffs either, those I could be rid of in moments if not for the watchers I know are with me. No, whoever has captured me has seen fit to ensure I go nowhere. Even I cannot pick a lock I cannot reach, nor could I outrun blades that are already drawn.

I open my eyes. That there is no green is more of a relief than I was expecting. It's dark, smoky red from torches that cast an orange glow over polished armour and drawn steel. My watchers shift, blades moving to point at me instead of being held at ease and one of the five turns, yanking the door open and vanishing down the corridor, the door slamming shut behind them. No doubt going to report that their prisoner has awakened.

I refuse to meet my captors flat on my back. I move slowly, the swords shifting with me as I sit up, taking stock of the bone deep ache that's settled. It's a fatigue I well recognise, the pain of pushing past the point you should have stopped and the exhaustion from healing. Proper healing if I'm not mistaken which leaves me curious. Why spend resources on healing a prisoner? There's only one reason I would order a prisoner healed. I fear I do not have what they want: information is a greater currency than gold, and right now I'm a pauper.

"Stay down." One of the guards growls out and I smoothly sink back to my knees. Anger, so much anger. All aimed at me. I would have though that it was simply a case of my identity being revealed, despite the many trails I always have laid down to protect myself and my movements. Yet this is something else. A poisonous sort of hatred that I can feel bleeding through their very bodies. They'd love for me to move, to defy them, to have a chance to hurt me. I cannot remember if it is warranted or not.

I let my head drop, closing my eyes and breathing deep, reaching for the other sense that lurks. It's there, a dull throb surrounding me yet the true weight is below. We're not underground then if the main sense of Stone is below. A human building most likely, they like to build with stone yet not under stone. I push deeper, trying to sense the layout, how deep am I? How far to the exit? The usual sorts of things that one would need when trying to plot an escape. I can be grateful later that I'm not being held in a wooden building. Humans are predictable in that they think stone to be so much more secure. Perhaps against a dwarf born and raised on the surface it would be, but I am of the last remnants of Cad'Halash and we remember.

Perhaps we even remember far more than Or'Zammar and Kal'Sharok do. They hide the memories, destroy what has gone for politics. We remember for vengeance. And we know the Stone, we know its embrace when growing is what connects us. I was born and raised under stone, as are all members of my house. We may not revere the Ancestors as the fools in Or'Zammar do, but we honour the Stone and the life blood that runs through it. The same thing which gives us our life. Blood of the Ancient Stone brought forth and changed to gold, the lifeblood of the surface world.

We're too far from the depths to sense Lyrium now, its comforting glow in my mind is absent. The Stone itself will have to suffice. It's a vast presence spread beneath and rising behind, enough to know I'm no longer at the top of the mountain. I remember that much at least, that I was on top of the mountain for... Something.

Never have I been so glad my Stone sense is so strong, so utterly tied up in my very being. Most do not feel it so strongly, so overpoweringly there in every moment. No, the sense for most is more passive, a gentle tug in their mind, few are blessed to have a strong gift. I have not the gift for crafting with it, the delicate balance of shaping the Stone and the gems and metal that come forth from it's depths. Nor do I have the way of enchanting, of feeling the balance in the lyrium, the shifts that lay down a magical channel that it will produce a specific result. I am what Or'Zammar would call a pathfinder. One suited for scouting work or stonemasonry, if of course one were to be born into the correct caste to take on such a task. Here there is no such restriction on what I can do, my own willingness to put in effort the only limitation and I have never been unwilling. If one tries there is no limit.

I push deeper, following the steep rise of the mountains, up, up far enough they tower over wherever I am right now. High enough that I can - my breath hisses out as my left hand clenches - feel something that isn't right. Like a wound in the Stone. A poison eating through the very fibre of its being. A corruption that fills my mind. Acid green. Shining, flickering, pulsing like the memories that will not stay still. I open my eyes, staring at the energy gathering on my palm, echoing that which is in my mind. What magecraft is this?

Steps approach the other side of the door, the heavy measured step of a warrior. I almost miss the other set, almost too light to hear. Given this magic that's found a home on my skin, I'm fairly certain the guards are due to that, not for any identity revelation and I intend to keep it that way. In other words; time to hide who I am and play the thug. Time to find some answers.

I hunch my shoulders as the warrior closes in, warily watching her as she circles. I know them both, by reputation and crudely drawn portraits admittedly, but there's no mistaking the left and right hand of the Divine. A hard sell then, at least to Leliana, the Nightingale. A woman I've had many dealings with; at least in operational terms.

She's trained as I am, a bard the humans call it. We don't give it fancy titles. A spy is a spy whatever clothes you put on. She is the one that must see nothing more than a Dwarven thug, only then will she follow the trail that's laid out for this exact reason. She needs to look into Edric, caravan guard from Ostwick who got sent to Ferelden years back. I cannot let her doubt, if she does she'll dig too deep.

I flinch away from Seeker Pentaghast, shaking my head and stuttering out a denial when she demands answers. Apart from the fact I actually can't answer how magic of all things got on my hand I need her to see a cowed prisoner. Jailors often get complacent with compliant prisoners. Or worse, stop paying them enough attention. Worse for the jailor that is. The steel shackles they have me in right now might stop me from picking the locks, it wouldn't stop me from killing and taking the key from a corpse.

Expecting them to believe me was not high on my list of expected outcomes, yet Nightingale vanishes and the Seeker changes the steel for a twist of rope I could be out of in a moment. I'm guided out of the jail and down the corridor by a firm hand on my shoulder. I let her guide me, she clearly has a destination in mind, as long as their's no noose waiting for me I can't see a reason to try and escape.

The light outside is bright enough I duck my head, letting them adjust as I stumble along for several steps. The Stone is stronger too, no longer muffled by the walls and it's a throbbing pain in my head of wrong, wrong, wrong! The light on my palm flares, a burning sensation like ice and fire melding into one travelling up my arm and I know I've dropped to my knees, breath hissing out between clenched teeth. Fuck but that hurts like nothing I've ever felt. It's inside me, beneath the skin and I wonder for a brief moment what would happen if I took a knife to my palm and tried to dig it out. No doubt they already tried that, if they didn't they're fools.

I let myself be hauled up - for the first time I'm not playing a game with her, I don't actually think I could get up on my own - and in doing so I look up. The Seeker braces me as I almost slide back to my knees.

I know what should be up there. Memories settle into place, I was here for the Conclave. Greatest decision in this half of Thedas was to be decided up there; of course I couldn't trust this to anyone else. I'd bought my way in as a merchant, after all, everybody would need to eat and drink. And if they asked right, Mages and Templars both need lyrium.

For all that it was a Temple to a human religion I don't follow, it was still an impressive place, built into the mountain like a proper hold and open to the air in the centre at the summit. It's gone. I'll be impressed if any of it is still standing. The entire top of the mountain is shattered, rock flung out. And that is the disturbing bit, that rock, just hanging in the air, gently swirling in a pillar of green energy. Acid green. No wonder the humans here look at me with condemnation when I bear a visible link to that.

I find my feet again, following as Seeker Pentaghast strides forwards, speaking words I'm only half listening to, explaining connections I've already made. They blame me. I don't know if I am to blame. If there was reason enough I'd certainly be willing to give the order to blow something up. Perhaps the mage energy was an accident, perhaps it's deliberate and I've forgotten why.

The magic flares again, a brief throb of icy fire and I clench my hand into a fist, watching as the light seems to seep out between my fingers. "I don't think," I say as I regard the Seeker, "that I have much choice do I?"

She smiles, the sort of smile a cat would give a mouse, "no. You don't. The mark is spreading and it will kill you." She palms a small blade and reaches for my wrists, the rope snapping without any effort.

I rub my wrists and cast a quick glance back at the angry crowd behind me and then up at the glowing mountain top. This certainly makes things harder. I can't just cut and run, "I'm hoping you have a plan?"


	2. Chapter 2

Humans always love to forget that Dwarva move slower than they do. Pentaghast doesn't seem to care that I have to take three strides for every two of hers just to keep up. I'd like to see how she does after a day of marching and climbing, they move faster but they don't tend to go for as long as us. Unfortunatley it won't come to that, not with a destination already in mind.

"Why, is it always mountains?"

I look over at Varric and shrug a shoulder. "You got something against mountains?" I ask him.

He snorts, "more like mountains have something against me." He punctuates that by nearly tripping over another rock hidden in the snow and I reach a hand out to stop him from pitching face first off the path we're using. "Thanks," he mutters. Jogging to keep up was all well and good earlier, where it was fairly wide paths and a shallow incline, trying that now will get us killed.

"You're welcome." I say, ignoring the impatiently waiting Seeker at the next turn. We'll be getting there when we get there. If she doesn't like it I'll be sure to suggest she can carry me.

I would like to tentatively say I like Varric. His reputation proceeds him and it's rare I'm not disappointed upon meeting somebody. If anything I'd say he toned down his own part in the Champions story more than even I had guessed. For all his smiles and banter about the entire situation I've seen a few sharp eyed glances my way since we quite literally ran across him and at least one smoldering scowl aimed at the Seeker. There's a story between them I'd love to hear at some point. For now though I need to remember that Varric is not one of my Carta. He's a Merchant Prince from the Guild and he has enough contacts and spies himself that a mistake with him will be just as deadly as a mistake made with Nightingale.

"We must hurry."

"Tumbling off the mountain would be a rather big step backwards," I say as affably as I can when we reach her. She huffs and moves on without another word, once again quickly outpacing us. I share another glance with Varric, neither of us needing to voice our thoughts on humans and how easily they forget they can leave us behind.

She slows down soon enough and I smile as she waits by the entrance to what appears to be a mine. "It's not a long passage, however I'm told Dwarves see better in the dark?"

"Than humans?" I ask as I move in front of her, the knives I borrowed from a corpse earlier at the ready. "Darkspawn and shades see just as well as us." And given the, how did Varric put it? 'It's raining demons out here' I think it was. I'm almost certain the mine is no longer unoccupied and unless it's the lost scouts holed up in there my bet is on something that wants to kill us.

"I'd prefer to take a torch." Varric mutters.

I shake my head as I pass. Spoken like a true surfacer. "Sooner we get in the sooner we'll get out."

Sometimes I wish I was a little less talented at correctly guessing how things might pan out. I could have done without quite so many demons lurking in the darkened hallways. Or, to be more accurate, I could do with better weapons than the shit I'm currently using. It's a bit hard to kill something when the metal dulls quicker than a fire goes out after being hit by an ice spell whenever it hits chitinous demon hide. What would I give for my own blades right now. I know I had them before the Conclave, yet apparently not when they found me, unless the Seeker is lying about that. They were a very nice matched pair, if anyone who knows blades found them, I'm probably never getting them back. They very deliberately looked like plain shit so they wouldn't draw attention, until you picked them up and felt the balance on them.

Varric lets out a sigh of relief as we pass out of the other side of the mine, as does the last member of our party. The elven apostate has been remarkably quiet, apparently focusing on the breach. I have the feeling he doesn't like me, hates even, there's something there I can't put my finger on, something not quite right. But what the fuck do I know of magic? Not enough to disagree with him when he speaks of the Fade, that's for sure. I need him as much as he needs me right now.

I roll my shoulders, shifting to put the knives back into the sheaths I attached to me belt. Except I don't actually get to the putting them away part as my fingers tighten on the hilts and I shift my weight into a loose crouch, eyes scanning over the mountainside. Snow, trees, more snow, rock... "I think," I say tightly, "there's another one of those small breaches nearby."

"You think?" Pentaghast may have meant it as a question but she gives no time to answer it. "How do you know that?"

I waggle my fingers at her. "Glowing magical mark." It's the easy explanation, the one that doesn't involve a long debate about Stonesense and how the breaches are somehow playing havoc with something I once took comfort in. 

"Hmmmmph," it's a noise that could be assent or it could possibly be disgust at my glib tone and she moves out without a backward glance.

I didn't notice it the first time, but closing this one, there's a definite change. A slight lessoning of the tension that's thrumming through me and while the mark burns when I use it, the niggling pain from it does seem less. At least until we get closer to the big one. I couldn't really expect anything else this close to it. I reach out to the wall, bracing myself as Pentaghast and Nightingale speak.

"You okay there?" Varric asks me quietly.

"I'll be better when it's closed. It's making the mark itch." I don't think he quite buys it, not given how hard it's becoming to hold back the grimace at the pain and how I've instinctively pulled my hand in to my chest; as if that can stop a magical connection. He's polite enough to just nod at me and gesture me forwards despite knowing the illusion is completely false. I grit my teeth and move, hand at my side as if I'm not ready to try and claw the light out with my own knife.

That might, upon reflection, have been a better choice than dealing with this giant rift. It's not easy to fight demons when your head is telling you it feels like I've just woke up the morning after chugging proper Dwarva black ale like its going out of fashion. At least with the ale I'd have potentially enjoyed the night before. On the other hand it does make sinking my blades into what could be the neck of a demon and have it just disintegrate a lot more satisfying. Also nice to see that Pentaghast isn't just a name and no substance, she's got more balls than some of the boys in my Carta going up against the big fucker that's come through while I'm trying to close the bloody thing.

I can only do so much before pain is breaking my concentration and each time it is becoming harder to focus. At least every soldier here heard the, what did Solas call them, Fade echoes, that show I wasn't in on the plot to kill their precious Divine. Perhaps if - no, definitely going to be more of a when - I pass out, they'll not throw me back into jail. It'd be much easier to fuck off out of sight if I'm not under guard in a cell.

"Still with us?" The quiet thunk and recoil of Varrics crossbow stops for a moment, the shifting clang as he changes to a new box of bolts is loud. It's a good loud though, he's been behind me most of the fight, keeping the demons off my back while I'm trying to keep the energy flowing correctly. If this is what mages have to learn as children I'm glad that current unfortunate incident aside, I'm a Dwarf.

I blink blearily at Varric and rest my hand, the not glowing one, on his shoulder as I raise the other towards the rift, the green filling my vision until something seems to snap in my mind. I stagger, stomach churning at the change. "Just letting you know, I'm going to pass out now."

I faintly hear a, "oh shit," as I tilt backwards. 

Waking is almost pleasant, if one discounts the cowering elf as I dress in the clothing laid over the chair. "I'm not that fucking scary am I?" I finally snap when he continues to jabber on. Stone preserve me from fools and simpletons. With that much groveling I'd be expecting an admission that he's to blame for some shit or other and can I have mercy.

He stammers something about Pentaghast again and flees, the door banging shut with a thud. I sigh. Apparently I am that scary. Also my status seems to have changed from prisoner to Lord if I was hearing him correctly. An interesting flip from one end of the spectrum to another. I slip the blades onto my belt. Looks like somebody sharpened them but there's not much you can do when the starting quality is so shit. There's also a potion beside my bed, a note underneath it. I snort, uncorking the vial and swallowing it. 'Use it if I need it and don't expect healing for at least a week, Adan'. The slightly bitter smokey flavour is followed by a burst of energy that seems to roll through me. Whoever this 'Adan' is, possibly the healer who's been taking care of me, he's quite welcome. Stamina draughts aren't something you usually find in a market unlike common healing potions and poultices.

The door opens easily, not a guard in... Sight. Right. Well then. "Herald!" Make that lots of guards in sight but not guarding me. What the ever loving fuck is going on? This is related to the elf and his stuttering. I rub at my eyes, but no, half the people that have seen me are kneeling. It's too early for this shit. And no, I don't care that it is, from the position of the sun, more like early afternoon. I haven't eaten anything for too long and thus it is morning and time for lunch. Pentaghast can wait for me to find somewhere that can give me food.

Good thing about human villages is that they are eminently predictable. There is a tavern. It serves food. And the food isn't anything to write home about. The ale isn't any better either. I feel almost at home.

I'm half way through my second ale having polished off two portions of what I'm sure was a nug stew, when Varric slides into the seat opposite me. "Finally awake, I'd appreciate if you didn't do that again."

"What, pass out?" I ask with a raised eyebrow, I mean, it wasn't something I particularly wanted to do.

"Mmmm, we had to haul you down the mountain," he says with a grin, "humans always forget just how heavy we Dwarva are."

"Next time I'll make sure I'm in a valley then."

He snorts, "can't say I didn't leave that option open." He falls silent, focusing on his own stew and I let my gaze wander round the tavern, never lingering on anyone else for long. There's a disturbing amount of people pretending they're absorbed in something else. It's like watching a room full of hopeful spies take their first lesson in how not to get caught and failing miserably.

"Varric. What's the deal with this Herald title I keep hearing?"

He makes a vaguely noncommital noise. "That would be you."

"I'd gathered as much," I say dryly. "Herald of what, weird green magic and raining demons?"

He laughs before pointing his spoon at me and wiggling it towards my marked hand. "Herald of Andraste."

"Andraste," I repeat. "Are you serious? Andraste? Have they not noticed I'm a Dwarf?"

"Oh shit." Varric says setting his empty bowl to one side. "You're still a follower of the Ancestors and all that aren't you?"

"The Stone. Not the Ancestors." I correct sharply. The Ancestors can go fuck themselves as far as I'm concerned. The Stone though, that's real.

"There's a lot of people out there who saw you close that rift and stop the demons coming through. They need something to hold onto, a sign that there's a solution to this madness. You're it."

"I can be that without being painted as a religious icon for a religion I don't even believe in."

There's a mildly pained look on Varrics face before he smoothes his features and shrugs slightly. "Look, you want my advice, just nod and agree, deal with the shit and how to get that mark removed, then you can vanish again, go back to worshiping the stone and whatever that entails."

"Varric, you don't believe I'm Maker sent do you?" I'm fairly certain he does and the flicker of his expression all but confirms it. Of course I'd get stuck with a surfacer who was born up here and never developed stone sense and turned to the Chantry instead.

"And if I do, your worship?" He says with a smirk, his tone light and joking.

"My name's Edric, kindly use it. I'm not a fucking Herald of Andraste or part of the sodding Chantry." I say flatly. I'm not in the mood to play games. I am not and will not be used as a religious icon.

"Woah, easy, easy. How about we move on?"

"How about telling me about the red lyrium? You said later back up on the mountain, now's later," I suggest with a small smile. It hadn't been important at the time, just a small tug at my mind that was nowhere near as insistent as the giant rift.

"That's not much better," he mutters as he leans forwards, a frown creasing his features. "Listen closely because I don't intend to tell you this again."

I set my mug to one side and give him my full attention as he explains how he came to run into red lyrium.

"That is not what your book says happens," I point out, "In fact I do believe you just said 'ancient idol' when it was mentioned."

"Sure red lyrium would have made for a more mysterious story, last thing I wanted was people trying to find more of the stuff."

I frown, piecing together what he hasn't said, both now and in the book, "up there," I jerk a thumb in the direction of the peak we both know is towering over Haven even if we can't see it right now, "you said it affects people." Varric nods once, a sharp gesture and I lean back. "Your brother?"

"Yes."

I pick my mug back up, "You changed it to poison in the book? Wise plan."

"Not that it matters now," he says ruefully, "who knows where else that stuff has sprung up and who it might effect before people realise it's bad shit."

"Excuse me." I glance up at the human. "Forgive me Herald, but Lady Cassandra wanted to speak with you."

"I'm aware," I say over the last of my ale, "I decided I wanted to have something to eat first." It will be good to show her and whoever else might think they're in charge that I won't be dragged around like a dog on a leash. The messenger gives me what can only be called a pained look. I can translate it quite easily, he doesn't want to try and hurry me because of my new title that seems to have sprung up, but nor does he want to make Pentaghast wait any longer. "It appears that I'm done now. I'll catch you again later Varric." I say when the messenger doesn't move, having him lurking would have killed my enthusiasm for conversation anyway.

Relief washes over his features, "thank you my Lord Herald."

I spare a glance for Varric who's leaning back with a smirk on his face. "Nod and agree Edric," he says as I push myself to my feet.

"Fuck off," I say, though I can't summon up any real anger behind it. He's not the one who started that ridiculous title. At least, I don't think he did. if I ever find out it was him responsible for that I will track down every business he owns and every contact he has and put him so far into poverty he'll be begging me for mercy.

He makes an amused sound and picks up his ale, "go enjoy talking to the Seeker."

I follow the messenger, glaring at the people who stop and gawk as I go past. The first one that makes a grab for me I nearly put a blade into before I realise they're asking me for a blessing. Varric really wasn't kidding when he said they wanted a sign. I wrestle a smile onto my face. "Blessings upon you." I mutter and their face lights up as they let me go. As long as nobody questions the lack of a Maker being mentioned I can do that. Humans aren't going to know that I'm thinking of the Stone when I speak.

They are not the only one, more and more seem to be realising I won't kill them just for approaching me and progress towards wherever the messenger is leading me is accordingly slow. I'm ready to shake the first dwarf that approaches me and actually give him the Stone's blessings just to see what an Andrastian Dwarva would do. He's got his head bowed the same as many of the humans who don't seem capable of meeting my eyes when they speak to me, and the hood is casting his features into shadow but I recognise his voice as soon as he speaks. "Your blessing Father?" he asks as he reaches out to grasp my non marked hand.

Cheeky fucking little bastard. "Maker's blessing and may Andraste smile upon you" I say blandly and I smirk at the faint twitch that emanates from the hood.

"Ouch. That was uncalled for," he mutters before letting me go and stepping back to meld into the crowds. I move on, ignoring the feel of parchment against my wrist, safely out of sight under my bracer. It'll have to wait until I'm done with this meeting, hopefully it's a note of who's nearby and what's going on with my organisation. My youngest boy has always been good at knowing what information I'm going to ask for before I have to say a word.

The messenger opens the Chantry door and points further in. "The room at the end my Lord, behind the Sanctuary, they're expecting you." I nod at him, and he turns away, apparently satisfied that I will be able to reach the other end of the building without diverting. I must admit I am sorely tempted to go look through the supplies stacked amongst the benches that have been pushed to one side, or to see what's behind the other doors. However voices raised in anger draw me to the door I am expected at, the lure of information that won't be repeated keeping me from wandering. The supplies and other rooms can wait, this is a one time offer of information, and I don't pass up free handouts that are to my benefit.

Last time I was in a Chantry I left the altar with a blessing upon it. The Revered Mother shouldn't have tried dabbling in matters beyond her ken. I neither appreciate nor tolerate liars; trying to put the blame onto others in her order did not endear her to me. It was a big enough insult she paid to me and mine that I dealt with her personally. I would be quite happy to deal with Chancellor Roderick in the same fashion. Seeker Pentaghast has at least recognised the difference between the ideals behind the Chantry and the rules that have been laid over those basic principles. While I may not wish to trust her chosen path, if I can win her loyalty she will likely be an ally until this mess is dealt with, and right now I am in sore need of allies. This is not a deal that can be won with gold or blackmail.

The door opens with a thunk and I sweep my gaze round the room, noting the two guards, I'm not comfortable having them behind me but I can't see a way out of it. I would be expected to present myself and be more cowed than I truly am. I sneer at the Chancellor before winking at him when the guards ignore him and obey the Seeker. What a nice display of just how little power he actually has, I'll be happy to work with that later: fools who think they have power are often the easiest to deal with, their bluster disappears sodding quickly when they have a blade against their neck. It does however make my notion of allying with the Seeker a lot more urgent.

I sigh, letting my fingers clench round the mark as I shift from one foot to the other as they argue; the picture of a slightly nervous thug who's not going to speak up unless called on. It's not Pentaghast or Roderick I'm convincing, but Nightingale who is watching me rather than the spat. "Oh, let me guess: you need my help?" I ask when closing the breach is mentioned.

I fall silent again, resisting the urge to point out that the Chancellor couldn't get me executed unless he did it himself right here. Orlais is a fair trip away - I'd simply never arrive. I cannot resist the smirk I throw his way when Nightingale suggests he might be to blame while Pentaghast defends me. It's wiped away a moment later. Fucking Chantry. Maker sent my ass. "Might I remind you, that I'm a dwarf," I point out, exasperation bleeding through despite my attempt to control my tone.

Religious logic astounds me. They have no evidence and yet declare something to be true. And everybody simply believes it. How does me being in the right place at the right time to somehow gain a magic glowing hand mean I'm sent to save them all? Nightingale makes a solid point though, I do carry the only way of closing the hole in the sky.

I blink at the book as it's thumped down on the table. Pentaghast seems reluctant and eager, Nightingale is as usual hard to read but if anything I'd say resolute fits her right now. The Chancellor though, he knows what that book is even if he won't admit it. He knows and he's terrified. The sort of fear you see in merchants when you collapse a scheme under tham and leave them nothing. Whatever this Inquisition is, it's a way to sidestep the Chantry leadership. I'll need to do some thorough digging to find information but this could work well to my advantage. Without shackles to the Chantry I may be able to shape the formation of this Inquisition.


	3. Chapter 3

The litany of periodic soft cursing from behind me has finally settled over several days into a background hum that is keeping me amused as we travel. Riding has never bothered me, I do it often enough to get around as I check up on business that I'd like to say I'm quite proficient. Though my usual choice is for the smaller mountain ponies than the tall gelding I've had to borrow. Varric, riding pillion behind me, is much less enthused by the entire experience.

"You know, it will be better when we find this Horsemaster and get some decent mounts," I point out as I push the horse into a tired trot, "and we won't have to share."

"I'll walk thank you," Varric says, his hands tightening around my waist. "If we have to ride sharing is good."

The chatter of relaxed soldiers surrounds us, about half of the small force the Inquisition boasts are with us. We're hoping to get enough of our name out that we can attract more. A lot of the refugees might be convinced to move if we apply the right sort of suggestion. After all, fighters need the unseen army behind them. The cooks, the cleaners, the seamstresses. Soldiers don't fight well when hungry, dirty and in falling apart clothing and armour. It's been a quiet ride, the scouts we have out seem quite dependable as nothing has attacked the main group that wasn't spotted well before it reached us. And most potential dangers scarpered when they saw the size of our group.

"Edric." Varric says suddenly and I turn my head slightly to show I'm listening. "How did you learn to ride so well? Didn't think that's the sort of thing the Carta would teach you."

"Caravan guard duty." I throw back. "Bronto and druffalo may be slow but they can walk for hours. You walk with them you'll have very sore feet after a few days. A caravan wouldn't get very far if its guards all refuse to move. Time is money and all that. So we rode sturdy little ponies so we could keep up." I smile slightly, "vicious little fuckers but they didn't scare as easily as a horse."

"You've been a lot of places then?"

"Across most of Thedas at some point." I say, smiling slightly. This is a perfect opportunity to tie in my supposed background while surrounded by people that can and will report back to Nightingale. I couldn't have asked for a better opening. "I was born near Ostwisk, I grew up, got a decent job guarding a warehouse, then things went tits up. I joined one of the caravans. Turned out they mostly do work in Ferelden but they shift goods out to other places, it's how I met them. Didn't really care they were Carta or that it'd mean moving to Ferelden, I just wanted to get out of Ostwick."

"You're a Free Marcher? Wouldn't have guessed from your accent."

I twist to look at one of the soldiers riding beside us and shift my accent. It's a trick I learnt long ago to blend in, although Orlesian still gives me some difficulty. "I can speak like a Marcher if it'll make you feel better Serah?"

"Woah," the soldiers pillion passenger says, "that's a nice trick."

"Why thank you mi amiga, I think so too." I say switching into a heavy Antivan accent and waggling my eyebrows when she blushes and giggles.

"Why did you want out? Is there a sordid tale there, something I could use in my next book maybe?"

I sigh, my breath escaping me in a loud woosh and I can feel Varric sit up a little straighter behind me, aware through my change in posture that he's hit on something I'd rather not speak of. Obviously it didn't happen in Ostwisk, but everything else Nightingale might dig up about this is true. I certainly would rather not talk about it more than I have to. "I," I have to stop and swallow past the lump in my throat, "my wife was killed in a fire."

"Ah." Varric's voice is soft behind me and his hands tighten slightly. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't know. Can we move on?" I'd rather not dwell on it. The image of the burning building is etched into my memory well enough without deliberately bringing it up. The door and windows hastily boarded over and sealed shut. It had been a hit on a Carta storehouse by one of my rivals, she'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Herald? We've set up camp just round the bend." I blink at the scout who's lounging in the crook of a tree. I'm getting complacent riding in a group like this, I haven't looked up and around for far too long. "We'll tend the horses, it'd be best to secure the Crossroads on foot, there's too many places to hide that aren't easily accessible on horseback. We've been waiting for you lot to arrive."

The Scout neglected to mention that the path down to the Crossroads was steep and slippery with loose rock and it provides me with a fair bit of entertainment as I stand at the bottom and watch as everybody else clambers down with a lot less grace than I did and far more cursing. Well nearly everyone, the scout group are watching with just as much amusement. Their leader, a dwarven archer who reminds me of my daughter with her no nonsense attitude finally waves her group away. "We'll go set up a perimiter." She says as they melt into the undergrowth beside the road and leave me alone to laugh.

"That doesn't count as a mountain." I point out to Varric a short time later, after I've helped him up from where he slid the last few meters down to sprawl in front of me.

"I fell down it, it counts," he grumbles.

Pentaghast glances over her shoulder, "if you trip over a large step, will that also be a mountain?"

"Seeker!" Varric says with one hand over his heart. "Short jokes already."

I tune them out as I move forwards. If I stop looking at the them I could almost imagine I'm with my kin, the bickering is certainly sounding similar. Taking the Crossroads isn't too hard, with the cliffs around it there's a limited set of ways in and out and as soon as we control them the fighting peters out. None of the rogue Templars or mages apparantly fancy a bit of climbing.

The Revered Mother, and despite what I may have said to Petaghast before we set out I do know who Mother Giselle is, albeit by reputation only; one can hardly have missed the stories from Jader and how she defied Chantry orders to save lives during a famine. She is one of those that actually appears to espouse the virtues of what the Chantry should be rather than get mixed up with political maneuvering. Meeting her does nothing to dim that view, she'll be a good woman to have at Haven. People listen when she speaks; so as long as she's speaking in favour of us, I'll keep her around.

After that there's no end of people that want to speak to me after she waves me away while she continues her work. Displaced farmers and crafters who simply want reassurance that things will be safer for the most part. I make sure to mention Haven when I can. Only a few will join us but even a few is better than none.

Eventually I'm able to slip away behind a building and from there down one of the roads a little. Not past the guards and into unclaimed territory but out of sight of the refugees as I hunker down behind a low wall. "Fuck but this is a sodding pile of shit," I mutter at the empty air around me.

"I don't know, it could be worse, you could be a pile of ash on a glowing green mountaintop," the air replies.

I snort. "True enough. What's the news?"

Lantos jumps the low wall and settles in beside me. "Good or bad?"

"Good first," I decide before I get a good luck at him. Once I do I can't help but stare, "what the fuck have you done to your hair?"

He lifts a lock of dingy blonde hair and shrugs. "The things I do for you. I'm looking the part of a downtrodden merchant." Given that his hair is normally as black as his sisters hair was (and I do recall the jokes I was subjected to as I went grey early on: that my wife had stolen the colour from my head) it's a little bit of a shock to see.

"The reek of manure really adds to the ensemble." I say with a pointed sniff and he punches my shoulder.

"Fuck you boss. Good news, shipments are up, though establishing drop points and contacts for easier distribution with the rebels is still ongoing. We've had questions being asked about you, we've given them the usual story. News out of Orlais is that the Chantry is still fighting so you've got a bit of time before they start paying you too much attention."

"Hmmmm. Coordinate with Derrik, try and get some more contacts in Haven itself for selling our stock, there are a few mages and templars there already that will need it with the Chantry denouncing the Inquisition. Last I saw my idiot son was working in the smithy and pretending to be a devout Andrastian."

Lantos shakes his head. "I had wondered how you'd got orders out to him so quickly. I suppose that's one way to get an audience with you though, oh Herald of Andraste."

"And the bad?" I ask quickly before he can come up with a more extravagant title.

"Vargo decided the hole in the sky meant he could move in on Kirkwall again, we're holding our own but his Marcher clan is starting to get annoying again."

A low growl escapes me, "send some more of the boys over there to back our cell up if you have to, that's our main entryway into the North East, last thing I need is Vargo holding it. He'll hit us with enough docking fees we'd be better off going all the way round the Waking Sea by cart." Kirkwall's a fucking shithole of a place. We've held it since the last Marches boss Rhatigan went and got himself fucked over with the taint and wiped half his clan out. It'd kept his once lieutenant Vargo on the low for a while as he builds the strength back up, but he's becoming more and more annoying as time goes on. I don't give a shit that Kirkwall is in the Marches and should technically be his, it's too good a place to give up. Same reason we use Jader as one of our main bases despite it technically being in Orlais. It's just too convenient with access to the sea and to Orzammar to give up without a fight. And we fight better than the Orlesian cells who occasionally make a bid for it. 

"Will do. Word out of Southern Orlais is that Tariala has hunkered down, can't get any information on her or her boys. She's probably in her bolt hole in the Dales, the one we still can't find."

"Apart from us she is closest to the Frostbacks, she probably got a nice up close look at the new demon spectacular."

Lantos snorts out a laugh. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"I can't take credit for that, it was one of Tethras' desciptions."

"Mmmm," Lantos says, "I'll get back to him. I've heard rumours you'll be off to Val Royeaux. Be very careful, Naras is up to something."

"When isn't he?" The head of the Northern Orlesian Carta cell is a nasty piece of work, and coming from me that should mean something.

"There's a mansion house in the woods to the east, couple of the boys hit it looking for valuables and they found these." He hands me a couple of scraps of parchment and a solid Dwarven made key. I read them over with a frown. "I know, before you say it, it's not coded; however we went along to Val'Ammar just to check and lo and behold we got company. We didn't get close enough to get a good identification on them but the colours are his. We didn't do anything else once we saw them, thought it best to let you decide what to do."

"I see." So. Naras thinks that because most of Ferelden is scrambling to deal with demons and the Chantry is now leaderless he can do... Something? In my territory. "We need to clear them out, send a clear message to him that just because our sky is raining demons doesn't mean we've gone soft."

"Might take a while to gather enough of the boys, we're spread out at the moment, trying to keep out of sight so we don't draw too much attention." He says.

"Or I could take the Inquisition," I say slowly, a smile lifting one corner of my mouth. "Why waste our boys on this when I have a fighting force right here. And he won't even put the blame on us. We can even just shift in quiet like and take over."

"Would they help?"

"Who said anything about asking," I raise my hand, even covered by a leather glove there's still a faint green glow every so often, "they can't afford to say no."

Lantos hums softly. "And Varric?"

"Anyone you identify as Varrics just feed them the same information you're giving out to Nightingale, otherwise leave them alone unless it's necessary to take action, I have a feeling he could be a useful ally to have. And one last thing, can you send a message to the Inquisition for me, I need the Dasher suitably enraged that I made off with some of his lyrium."

"And how angry is the Dasher to be?"

"Oh, I'm incensed, outraged, peeved, murderous... You get the idea."

"Will do."

"Father, Uncle, company incoming." A voice says quietly from over the wall before a face pops into view with a scraggly awkward just growing in stage beard along with an equally shaggy mop of blond hair. That too should be jet black and I shake me head slightly as he giggles and winks at me. I waggle my fingers at Lantos' son and he bounces away, loudly greeting whoever is approaching us. Lantos has taught him well; creating noise and buying time so I can move all without being told to.

Lantos nods at me and slouches down, a wineskin procured with apparent sleight of hand from under his grubby jacket. "Go on, get. I haven't seen you," he says quietly.

I scarper along the wall and tuck myself behind another set of rocks well before Pentaghast pokes her head over the wall I just left. "You haven't seen another dwarf round here, grey hair, dressed in worn brown leathers with twin knives have you?"

"Nah, Ain' seen nuffin. How 'bout you come round 'ere an see a bit more a me instead?"

The Seeker's sound of disgust echoes and I slip away when she moves on, apparently unwilling to continue to speak to the drunk, lecherous dwarf for any longer than necessary. Not that I can blame her, that was laying it on pretty thick.

It takes a couple of days before I'm even able top broach the topic of Val'ammar, apparently turning a section of the Hinterlands into a pitched battlefield was the Templar and Mages idea of what to do with each other. Neither side was willing to listen and in the end we had to clear out both camps. A few of them decided we were a better option than dying, not many though, and I'm sick of keeping them from killing each other in my camp.

Apparently breaking a mages nose and ending up sitting on the chest of a fully armoured templar with my blade hovering near one eye was the level of threat needed to keep them quiet. Even so I've sent them off back to Haven and then had to oversee putting out the fires and dismantling the magical traps before I could think about mentioning anything else.

I was quite right in what I said to Lantos, it doesn't take much for the Inquisition to bow to my will on the matter of Val'Ammar. They might be under the impression that the interlopers are members of the same Carta group I'm from and that's why they need clearing out; so they don't drag me away. I didn't bother to correct their misconceptions and it was easy enough to rifle through the pouches of one of the thugs guarding the door and 'find' the key on one of them.

"So this is Valammar, doesn't look like much." Varric says as we enter and I take in the crumbling stonework that's been left for too long without repairs. Such a fucking waste for so many of these places to have fallen to ruin. So many could have been saved if Or'Zammar had been willing to use the surface for travel and install gates into the Deep Roads to keep the Darkspawn out.

Some of the fractures run far deeper than eyes can see. I trace one of them out, my Stonesense telling me what my eyes and fingers cannot. This break goes several dwarven paces into the stone, likely an earthshift at some point caused it to crack. Possibly the same earthshift that led to the ceiling collapsing which leaves a strange open hole in my stonesense. "Most of the lost Thaigs are like this. Crumbling ruins."

"I think it is spectacular." Pentaghast says as she takes in the huge roofless cavern, "to have made this, and have it still be standing."

"At least you hope it will still stand." Varric says with a motion at the bridge.

I laugh at how quickly the Seeker stops, eyeing the bridge with a sudden wariness. "It has stood for longer than I can imagine, it is unlikely it will fall now?" It sounds more like a question than a statement.

I tap the first block of stone with one foot, gingerly inching forwards until she realises I'm teasing her. "Unless you jump up and down on it with an ogre it'll be fine." She huffs, striding past me and I fall in behind her, for once perfectly at home. It might just be my imagination but it almost feels like the sheer weight of the stone is blocking out the background sense of the rifts. It still doesn't feel right, but it's a lot better than it has been. I'll be happy enough if this little trip is longer than the day or so I'm guessing it will take to find some answers.

It doesn't take longer. Unfortunately. It does however find the answer to the niggling sense of not right I was feeling. Red lyrium is just as bad as the rifts. Just in a different way. The usual blue lyrium is alive, of a sort, not that I can ever explain what I mean. Compared to that I'm surprised red lyrium hasn't up and started walking. It reaches out, where regular lyrium is a soft song, a gentle lullaby, the red stuff is a crescendo at the end of a song, a beating drum that's all but shouting 'come to me'. Yet it's a song overlain by a sickly sense, a possessive want, a need. It hungers.

Varric said it gave him a bad feeling and Pentaghast didn't seem all that bothered by it. I need to get a few of my boys in and test if it's those with stronger stonesense that can feel how wrong it is. Not that I have any idea how that will help beyond knowing that those with less of a stonesense might mine it or Stone preserve, consume it, thinking it is just a different colour lyrium. I would wonder if humans could be tempted, except that answer is clear. While I never set eyes on it myself there was a red crystal statue in Kirkwall for weeks until some way to move it was devised. It doesn't take a genius to work out the connection between the two.

After feeling the stuff I'm certainly not adverse to helping Varric on his apparent one dwarva quest to destroy every fragment we come across. Seems like a good use of Inquisition resources to me. Having my army turn into red crystal statues would be rather inconvenient.

It shatters under solid blows, the shards of material scattering across the floor. The song lessens, though I can still hear it faintly from the little bits. I grind one under a heel, satisfied when it is nothing more than a fine powder. "How the fuck are we going to dispose of this?"

Varric twitches slightly. "Would you believe I didn't think of that?"

I hum slightly as I think. "Lava."

"That would certainly dispose of it. But... Where exactly do you have easy access to lava?"

"I figured Lady Montilyet would solve that." I say with a shrug. I know several places I could get access to lava, both Or'Zammar and Kal'Hirol would work. But explaining how I could get people to take the lyrium in through back entrances would show I still have contact with the Carta. "Lets get this swept up and bagged. We'll send a squad in tomorrow to properly seal that tunnel we jury rigged so the place isn't swarming with 'spawn when we leave. They'll be all over the Crossroads if we leave such easy access open for them."

"That, sounds like a good plan." Pentaghast appears mildly surprised that she has nothing to add or any alternative suggestions and I give her a smile, as if I'm happy that I came up with the right guess first time.

"To the surface then?" Varric asks, far too eagerly for my tastes as soon as the last of the red crystals is sealed away.

"Yes." I agree reluctantly. We've wiped out every dwarva we could see on the top level, gathered any information we could find in their little headquarters, emergency sealed up a darkspawn tunnel and destroyed a patch of red lyrium. It seems like a good days work, yet I feel like we're missing something. It would take weeks to fully search the place though. There's too many old mining tunnels that could have been opened up, not to mention the warren of what was once housing further back into the rock. I'll make sure to get a watch put on the place, make sure nobody is coming or going from the depths anymore.

It actually takes a few more weeks to finish securing the Hinterlands, mages and Templars have holed up in every little nook and cranny they can find. A few of them we manage to convince that heading to Haven to help us is better than dying, the rest are sure that they will be able to defeat us. Apart from one lucky electric attack that leaves me on the ground and shuddering with aftershocks they really don't even come close to killing us.

The return to Haven was a slightly quicker affair than the leaving, we left half the soldiers to hold the Hinterlands, so not only were we a smaller travelling party, we also had better horses as Dennet decided it'd save him driving all the herd to Haven if we rode half of them. Varric was still riding pillion behind me though, he outright refused a horse of his own.

I was looking forward to hitting the tavern when we got back, alas my plans are spoilt by a messenger who lets me know the Ambassador wishes to speak to me and he'll see to my horse. I'm left staring after him and then at Varric who shrugs. "I'd go see what she wants."

I can't find an argument against why I shouldn't do as requested. The Ambassador has been unfailingly polite to me so far. Which is why I find myself knocking on her door and slipping in rather than sitting by the tavern fire with an ale and making her wait.

"Master Cadash."

I wince. That is the universal tone of an unimpressed woman. "Yes Lady Montilyet?" I ask with a bow that I deliberately leave just a little off balance and slightly too deep.

"What exactly is this?" I blink at the small scrap of paper and smile. Ah. So that's what this is about. She takes my silence for assent to continue. "Let's see shall we," she unrolls the tiny parchment, "Ambassador, contact somewhere with lava, we have shit that needs dumping, Edric."

"I couldn't fit much more information on the paper than that. It was a raven not an eagle." I point out.

"That is not what." She takes a calming breath. "Exactly what are we dumping?"

"Red lyrium, two carts worth."

"Red? Lyrium."

"It sends people crazy, so we need rid of it."

"I see." And that's the tone of a long suffering woman. "Master Cadash, get out of my office."

I chuckle and bow low again. "As you wish my Lady Ambassador."

The tavern is my next destination, before I can be grabbed by anyone else. I intend to enjoy it until I'm sent out on the next whirlwind tour to close rifts somewhere.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake. My breath is fast, my heart racing as I stumble out of bed. How do the other races live like this? If it's not the mark aching while I'm trying to go to sleep it's the green tinged world invading. Dwarva aren't meant to dream. It's not right. Every night since I got this fucking mark has been the same, memories of green, of running, of a fear that I can't place. Yet they're fleeting, ephemeral, drifting away as I wake as if I've just imagined the entire thing.

I take a deep breath, calming myself before I open my eyes again. I don't even remember closing them.

I may have been better off keeping them closed. Everything is fucking green. Am I still dreaming? 

"What are you?" It's a whisper in the silent world, a chiming voice that echoes across the open field I'm standing in. Except for me bed, just sitting there in the open without a care in the world. There's a mist nearby, hovering and pulsing with a faint blue light. It's the only thing that isn't green, everything else is various shades of the by now, quite obnoxious colour, from the ground to the sky.

"I'm me," I say, "what are you?"

"Curiousity." The voice says, the mist inching closer. "You are new."

"Yes. I am." Is this a demon? I have no idea what to make of this. The how and why mages needed lyrium wasn't my business, I only needed to know how much and how often. All I have to go on to guide me now is the occasional idle conversation half overheard at a tower. Demons seek to trap the unwary, but not all Fade denizens are demons. It's just hard to tell which is which. And that's pretty much the sum of all my knowledge.

"Why are you here?" The mist pulses then recoils, "oh!" A tendril reaches out, almost gingerly poking at my hand before I pull it back and tuck it against my side. "You are connected to here."

"Do you know how to leave this place?"

The mist brightens, then dims and contracts a little. "I don't know, Dreamer's just leave."

Just leave? "I see." maybe if I will myself awake that'll do it. Mages say magic is about willpower and how much mental fortitude you have to exert control. I just need to wake up.

I'm lying down. The faint scratch of cotton sheets under my hands a reassurance I'm back in the real world as I blink an eye open to stare at a blessedly brown wood panelled wall. A faint breeze tickles my cheek. There should be no breeze which means somebody has opened the door or window, both of which I left firmly shut. I hope the Inquisition soldiers would be polite enough to knock otherwise I'll have to explain why one of them is deceased. Not reacting to the unexpected sensation is not a case of freezing in place as one might expect. It's a measured response; keep breathing evenly, stay relaxed, wait.

A faint scuff of leather on wood gives me the information I need. My hand, already wrapped round the hilt of one of my small throwing knives draws it out from under the pillow and casts in one smooth motion. I don't wait to see, or hear, if I connected as I grab the sheathe with the rest of the throwing knives and roll out of bed. The covers are flung out in front of me, the fabric fluttering through the air. Lesson one when assassinating somebody: invisibility and intangibility are not the same thing. The cover changes direction, swept aside by an unseen hand. The second blade does strike, a muffled grunt of pain the response, the third is a killing blow as the body hits the floor.

The blade is lodged high on the neck, nearly a miss I muse as the body fades back into view, I was just lucky enough to strike the vein. I'm either out of practice or getting too old for this sort of shit. Possibly a combination of the two options. The second is in his upper arm, the third in a corner of the room, a scrape on the assassins armoured thigh the only evidence that I did hit my target. I check them quickly before sliding them back into the sheathe and strapping it back on my arm. They'll need sharpening before I use them again. Armour is next, more fool me for thinking I was safe enough to take it off given there were Inquisition soldiers keeping watch. My daggers are last and I slip out the door and down to the front room of the estate we've rented. I'm disappointed to find the soldiers still alive. Disappointed because that means they weren't doing a very good job at keeping intruders out and I can't treat them as I would my own Carta.

"Herald?" One of them asks after nearly a full minute of me simply leaning against the doorframe and watching them. Their observational skills could do with a little work. I could have killed all four of them in the time it took to spot me.

"Could you round up a couple of men to remove the body from my room?" I ask politely.

"Of course Herald," there's an odd salute, as if he couldn't decide whether it was appropriate or not, or what type of bow to use and ended up melding several together. "Ah. The body?" He pivots and asks from a few steps past me.

"Yes. Might want to clean the blood too."

"Uhhhm. Yes Herald." He vanishes into the depths of the estate as I survey the remaining soldiers who shift under my gaze. 

I shake my head slightly. "I'll be in the kitchen, now I'm up I'm hungry." I really should try and go back to sleep, tomorrow we'll be in Val Royeaux itself rather than on the outskirts in a small manor house Leliana conveniently procured for us for the night, yet I doubt I'll manage to find any rest after that dream. Better I do something productive. Sharpening my knives and filling my belly seem like decent alternatives.

To be fair, it's probably better I'm mildly sleep deprived by the time we get into the city. Pleading a lack of sleep due to the unfortunate interruption of my rest is an easier excuse than: 'Stone below who uses those colours together,' 'why is everything made from bright reflective stone,' oh and lets not forget the ever present; 'wonder where the next assassin might be.'

I am not happy about this visit to Orlais the rest of them insisted I have to come on. We're in Val Royeaux, headquarters of a Carta clan which hates the Ferelden clan for some slight that's been passed down through who knows how many generations. The only thing going for me right now is that Naras has never directly met me so as long as I keep my head down he'll hopefully keep thinking of me as just a guard who got dragged into this Inquisition business and has no idea what to do about it. 

Beside me Varric has his crossbow in his arms and is glancing between me and every shadowy doorway we pass. Seems I haven't been hiding my wariness quite as well as I thought I was. I'm hoping Naras will decide I'm not worth trying to kill for entering his territory given the backlash he'll get from the Inquisition. If I'm unlucky he'll try it anyway to make a point. Once Carta, always Carta. You don't just walk away, too many secrets to tell. I might be from a rival cell but if I was just a thug there's a lot I could tell the Inquisition in exchange for more freedom.

"The fact I'm ex-Carta wasn't exactly kept quiet," I mutter.

Varric nods, "I figured. There's a saying up in Kirkwall; 'only way out of the Carta is in a bodybag'. Though you kind of sidestepped that one."

"Mmmm, so far."

"What are you two talking about?" Pentaghast asks, stopping to stare down at us with arms crossed.

"Oh, just conspiring to set Edric up as the new Divine if they can't choose one." Varric says with a straight face and I laugh as she huffs.

"You are mocking the Chantry."

"No, I'm mocking the bureaucracy. Entirely different." Varric says. I can't help but agree; the basic tenets of the Chantry aren't actually all that bad if you strip away every preconcieved notion and just take them as basic statements. It's the additions and amendments that I can't abide by.

"Hey Varric," He tilts his head at me as we approach the centre of Val Royeaux. "Orzammar has bigger statues."

"I bet they don't have such good graffiti on them do they?" he asks as he snickers at one of the plaques.

"Oh Stone no, The Shapers would have a breakdown if somebody defiled one of their precious Paragon statues like that. You have to get creative with where you put the graffiti."

"I take it you speak from experience?"

I smirk, "everybody is young and foolish at some point."

"Why were you down there anyway?"

"Making a deal with the Orzammar clan." I realise that I may need to adjust that, the guard I'm trying to portray wouldn't be making any deals. "It was back about twenty years ago, near enough when I first started working for the Carta. We snuck in via the Deep Roads and then the Bosses kicked us guards out of the meeting and without a brand I could wander round all I wanted."

I've actually been in and out since I came of age, which was over thirty years ago. The Paragon defacing happened on my first visit and last I checked, which was only a year or so ago it was still there. Maintaining relations with the Or'Zammar clan was essential for getting things distributed down there. At first I went with my own grandfather, the then head of our clan who did the negotiating, I'd just sit and listen when I was allowed to. After that it was on my own when I took his position after he retired.

We had a decent arrangement despite going through three different leaders in Or'Zammar. Dhelan was a canny bastard, his son Beraht was just as shrewd but far more ruthless and Jarvia just outright cruel, but none of them were stupid. They couldn't be, not to survive in command of the Or'Zammar clan. Then about ten years ago there was the shake up when Bhelen became King. The warden Paragons wiped out so much of the Orzammar cell I got my people in to take over. Since then I don't go to negotiate so much as catch up on the news with my eldest daughter who runs things down there.

"Huh." Varric makes a sound I can't put a name to. "I've never been to Orzammar. I could if I really wanted to, I have the contacts who could get me a pass, but I refuse to be branded, even if it's just with paint that will wash off. All for the privilege of speaking to a few dwarva who think they're something special."

"Given what you thought of Valammar I can't say I think you'd enjoy it much down there anyway." I point out. He hadn't been enamoured with the concept of being under that much rock and that was with light still filtering down from the main ceiling collapse.

He chuckles, "if the important dwarves want to speak that badly they can come to the main doors and we can shout at each other over the threshold."

"I'd love to do that right now to the Chantry," I mutter low enough only Varric hears me and give Pentaghast a bland smile when she looks suspicious. "I promised Lady Montilyet I'd behave," I point out to her.

"Which means?"

"I won't kill anyone?"

"That is not as reassuring as you might think it is."

I spread my arms wide as we approach the podium. "I'll be polite."

In my defence, I wasn't the one that actually punched the Chantry lady. I merely suggested I was thinking about it. Seeker Pentaghast is now refusing to talk to me unless absolutely necessary. I can't decide whether I appreciate the silence or not.

We duck into yet another alleyway, this is apparently a shortcut to the place Nightingale has rented for us and some of her scouts should already be in place in other guises. It's not confirmed but I have a feeling the entire set of rooms the place may have is currently occupied by Inquisition agents or guards in one form or another.

I stumble at the end and Pentaghast catches me. I blink and give my head a shake. It doesn't help. I feel like for just a moment there were two of me walking that path. "Did you see that woman?" I ask.

Pentaghast looks over my head, sharing a silent conversation with Varric. "There was no woman, only us."

"Right." I stand up straight, taking my weight off her arm. "I must just be tired."

Varric reaches out and claps my shoulder. "You know seeing things that aren't there is the first sign of madness?"

"Does that make all mages mad?"

"Some more than others," he mutters, "so what did this woman look like, some exotic beauty?"

"If only I was so lucky. I think she was a mage."

Varric laughs, "madness confirmed."

I laugh with him and we continue. Pentaghast goes back to her stoic silence now I don't seem to be having another crisis. No matter what they say though, I definitely saw an elven woman. Talked to her even. She called herself Enchanter Fiona and she wants to meet in Redcliffe. Yet I also remember walking down an empty alleyway. First the dreaming and now this. I'm going to have to have a long talk with Solas about magic and the Fade. Which means asking a lot of other questions and basic things and looking intrigued to hide which parts I'm actually interested in because I still don't trust him. 

Varric is still finding the entire ignoring me thing hilarious, something to do with Hawke and Aveline is the most I can gather from him. Our guard entourage is doing their best to pretend they don't exist while avidly listening in for any gossip. On the positive side, they're easy to lose when half their mind is on listening to a master wordsmith spin a tale. Besides, I didn't go far, if they have the intelligence to look up. I'm only up on the roof to try and get some peace and quiet. I found a sheltered spot that's enclosed on three sides and is under a balcony. Unless somebody swings down from above I'll have plenty of warning I'm being ambushed.

The Chantry is even more of a mess than I thought it was before we came here. Not only has it lost control of many of its magi circles and templars stationed in the far flung places, it has lost its main guard force. If they were a business I'd be smelling profit from them. If we keep recruiting as we are the Inquisition will have enough of a force that I could have them seize control of the Chantry. Drastic last resort mind, I don't want to try and reform a broken religion, but if needs must.

And the seekers and templars that left... Why? I'll need to get some people onto trying to track down where they're going and exactly what they're doing. It makes no sense to abandon Val Royeaux where they have a huge amount of support for somewhere else.

The scrape of metal on tile grabs my attention and I slip a throwing knife free. The Dwarva that hauls themself over the roof walks silently as they approach, each foot carefully placed; I have to conclude they deliberately made noise as they came up so I wouldn't throw first and ask questions later.

They stop a respectable distance away, close enough our voices won't carry but not enough to hem me in to my little nook. "Herald."

I raise an eyebrow when they don't say anything else. "It's polite to introduce yourself," I point out.

"Just a messenger from an interested party."

"I've had a few of those today. Any reason why you chose now?" I sweep an arm over the darkening skies, Satina is just rising, her silvery light filtering through the sparse cloud dotting the sky, which combined with the lanterns dotted around makes for an interesting set of shadows. I doubt anyone would notice either of us if we stood up instead of crouching down, we'd just be more shadows in the twilight.

"The party in question wishes to deal with you, not with the humans."

"Go on then," I prompt.

"The party in question."

"Just say your boss, it'll be quicker." I interrupt.

They incline their head, "my boss is aware that your clan have abandoned you to this Inquisition," they say, pausing until I nod, "as you're no longer declared for any particular clan, we have a business proposal for you."

Interesting. And alarming. I have a feeling this boss is Naras and I know what he wants. There's a big mine right in the centre of Ferelden territory that was digging out red lyrium. I'm starting to suspect taking out his assassin last night was merely a test of the Inquisition and not a full out attempt on my life. "I'm listening."

"My boss found some good prospects in an old Dwarven settlement." Sometimes I hate being right. "We fear you cleared it out thinking they were from the Ferelden cell."

"Valammar? Yeah, didn't want them too nearby, thought I'd likely end up being shanked in the night. My old boss aint exactly happy with me," I say slowly. "You want me to make the Inquisition give you access?" I ask before narrowing my eyes, "and what do I get out of it?"

"You get the Inquisition to ease off their watch on the place and we'll send regular donations to your cause."

I nod slowly, letting out a hum or two as I think it through. Actually I don't need to think about it. I can't afford to say no. Not for the money, that'll be a bonus; but because I can try and follow where they're shipping the red lyrium to and why. If what Varric has told me about it is true, I need to follow that trail and find some answers. I can always find some way to shut the operation down again if I need to or when I've found the answer. "Tell your boss I'm interested. I'll be here for a few more days, get it written up in a contract."

They bow slightly and back down the roof, not, I note with amusement, taking their eyes off me at any point before they flip over the edge and out of sight. I believe that's also a sign that I should return to the tavern we're quartering in. If I don't turn up before it's fully dark I suspect Pentaghast will have search parties out for me no matter how annoyed she still is.

The guards welcome me back with sighs of relief and I raise an eyebrow at the one trying to look casual as he leans against the wall opposite my room. Given the couple outside the Tavern that are conveniently placed beneath my window I suspect Pentaghast has had words on top of the shock I gave them last night.

My skills at avoiding notice are really getting a work out at the moment and I'm still not being entirely successful all the time. See the Merchant Prince currently flipping through an abandoned publication and scowling as proof of my failure to avoid detection and get away without an escort today. My unobtrusive morning escape wasn't quite as stealthy as I'd thought it was as he caught up within four buildings despite the fact I thought I'd managed to get passed the guards without them seeing me.

"Surely whatever is on there isn't that bad?" I ask with a wave of my hand at the sheets he's holding as I lean against a balustrade and watch the Orlesians moving around below. They seem utterly ignorant of the danger that could be lurking above their heads on the many balconies and walkways up here. The reports that put the Carta as operating from the sewer system suddenly makes so much more sense. Up here is far too exposed for my liking.

Varric raises the parchment and clears his throat, "his pulsing member thrust into her, as deep as her womanhood could take it. 'Oh, darling,' he cried, throwing his head back as she writhed beneath him. He clutched at her succulent globes as her love tunnel clenched around his huge organ and she trembled beneath him as they fell into oblivion together."

"Please don't ever read anything like that in that tone of voice ever again," I say with a full body shudder, "that was..."

"Fucking shit?" He offers when I can't find a word that truly expresses what I think of it, "if you want some advice, don't buy the Randy Dowager if you want to read something that doesn't make you want to gouge your eyes out."

"Noted," I say as we wander further along the balcony, "who the fuck uses succulent globes in a story anyway?"

Varric snickers, "somebody who doesn't have any sophistication in their prose."

"You can do better?"

"Have you read Swords and Shields?" he asks with a wicked grin, "I know I can do better."

"I'll hold you to that you know, once we've dealt with this." I hold up the scrap of red silk that had started the trail of clues we've been following. I hold them all out. "I think we might have enough for a place and time now?"

Varric leans in, glancing over everthing before nodding. "We going to go spring a trap? Should we be fetching the Seeker?"

"No," I say, "I'm perfectly capable of not getting killed on my own, I don't need another minder." The more I grumble about my guards and slip away to do things like sneak into the Tavern the less likely they are to keep coming to find me. Eventually. It's nowhere near there yet but sometime in the future I'm hoping they'll trust that sneaking off is just what I do and that I'll be found in a Tavern. It'll leave me free for a small period of time between sneaking off and getting to the Tavern which I can use to meet my contacts and get reports.

Varric snorts. I do notice though that he doesn't deny that he's not a minder.

"Come on, we can stop for a bite to eat before we go follow our trail. Time isn't till later."

"Are you paying?" Varric asks as we veer towards the nearest tavern.

"Nope," I rattle a pouch of coins. "The Inquisition is paying."

"Now you're talking my language."

Its starting to go dark before we make a move to amble towards our rendezvous point. The alleyways are dark and deserted now the main populace has turned in. What was a well lit thoroughfare is now a prime place for a murder with no witnesses. I'm not the only one who can feel it as Varric makes no protest when I scramble up a pillar and onto a balcony and from there onto a roof.

The courtyard we need is helpfully signposted, it's also unhelpfully deserted. There's enough light from the surrounding houses to get a good look round and I point out a dark balcony to Varric. "Stay up there and cover me. I'm going to go spring this trap."

"Don't die. I'm not explaining why I'm dragging your corpse back to the Seeker."

I'm expecting something a little more... Well just more. Not a single fop who seems to think his schemes have even been recognised. I can almost feel my eyebrows inching upwardss with every word out of his mouth. I don't suspect he's a danger but I'll need to find out. Just in case he is that good and we haven't found some insidious little plan to thwart us. I pull one of my knives, twirling it with a smile. I do believe he's going to talk nice and easy.

Would have talked nice and easy. Past tense. If he didn't have an arrow lodged through his eye socket.

Stupid fucking knife-ear child. 

"Woah, Edric."

I growl, holding the knife to her throat for a moment longer before letting Varric tug me away. "Do something like that again and I will kill you," I say, watching the way her throat works as she nods slightly.

"Well, it's just, my friends said the Inquisition wanted 'im dead, so I made 'im dead like."

"Your informants know what I'm thinking do they?" I still don't know what to make of her. Is she just an idiot child who doesn't know better or is she part of this set up, some elaborate ruse even Nightingale hasn't seen.

"Oh, you're him aint you? Didn't think you'd be all dwarfy, ya know."

"Careful elf. I'm already in a bad mood."

"Sorry. It's just, you know, you're all glowy and all. Oh, and the guards might be catching up soon but I raided their storeroom and took their breeches."

I'm starting to suspect my first guess; that she's a child in over her head is right, she's too enthusiastic, too immature for all that she's happy enough to kill a man. But then, that's just Orlais for you. Killing is part of the game, if you're raised round that, it's nothing new. "You took their breeches? Why not take their weapons?" I pull my second blade out. "Actually, I don't fucking want to know."

And after all that she wants to join the Inquisition.

I take my time cleaning my blades on the jacket of one of the now deceased breechless guards as she shifts from foot to foot. I do not want her anywhere near me. I'm not a babysitter and the last thing I need is her running her mouth at somebody important. On the other hand, at least in Haven I can have a close eye kept on her and limit some of her 'helping'.

"Fine, you can help." I finally say as I get up to leave.

"This is going to be great." She says falling into step with me.

I stop. "I am still very angry with you, go talk to Varric or shut the fuck up."

I ignore the hurt I can see on her face before she drops back to walk with Varric. Truth often hurts and she's going to have to learn some harsh lessons in a short space of time if she wants to survive.

She doesn't try and speak to me again, which at least shows she has brains enough to either recognise a threat or to actually learn. I leave Varric to explain her presence to Pentaghast who glares and huffs as I escape to my bed. I need all the sleep I can get given the novelty of dreams still waking me early, it's not a short trek out to the estate we've been invited to tomorrow.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep catching up with me, perhaps it was the magic taking pity on me, either way I managed to sleep through the night, no more visits to the Fade. Which was a relief, I need to research fade dreaming without giving away that I'm somehow ending up there. I've spent the journey through Val Royeaux trying to remember which of my contacts that can get hold of books might be useful. So many of them were with Circle mages I'm not entirely sure who might still be in place and who's fled.

"You ready for this?" I can feel the warmth of Varric's breath against my ear where he's leant forwards so he's not overheard. I drag my attention back to the current matter, I won't be able to deal with the fade problem until later anyway if I need to send out messages. It's a bit hard to write coded messages while on horseback and not let your pillion passenger know what you're doing.

Besides, of course I'm ready. The Orlesian game is simply another version of the games the Carta clan's play. Power plays hidden within schemes and diversions. Words that have more than one meaning and implications that are made to trap the unwary into admitting something they'd rather not. I've been playing this game all my life; Dasher Cadash could play this game in his sleep. Herald Cadash however doesn't have a clue about this game and that's who I need to present. "Not really," I mutter back as I give a gentle tug on the reins to stop the horse.

"You'll be fine," Varric replies as he carefully peels his hands off the front of my belt where he keeps a deathgrip on me while we travel.

A stableboy, no, a stablegirl scampers out to hold my horse's head and I chuckle at the image as Varric slides off. She's tiny compared to the heavy Ferelden courser but she doesn't seem daunted by the size. I jump down when Varric has stepped back out of the way and I pass the girl a few coppers with a wink, "He's called Steady."

She nods, the coppers disappearing into a grubby hand as she gives me a gap toothed grin, "got it Mister. C'mon Steady."

"You're a sucker for kids, you know that?" Varric says as we head towards the entrance to the estate.

"I miss my children," I say with a half shrug, "they're all grown now."

"How many have you got?"

"Five." I say as I let my eyes roam over the front of the building, looking for potential methods of egress should things go sour and we have to make a rapid exit. Beside me I can see Varric doing a similar inspection. It's why he's become my favourite travelling companion, he thinks like I do. I don't have to worry that if I say run he's going to stay behind and heroically try and fend everybody off.

"You were a busy man," Varric says.

"Oh, I certainly was," I say with a wink.

Varric snorts and shakes his head, "You're as bad as Hawke."

"Really?" I ask, curious, apart from what's in his book he's been remarkably closed off about his friendship with the Champion of Kirkwall.

"Absolutely. I'd almost be tempted to ask him to visit just so I could see which one of you could make the worst innuendos."

I smirk, "in Ambassador Montilyet's hearing because she makes the most adorable flustered noises?"

"Adorable?" Varric asks with a suddenly wicked grin.

I laugh, "I find kittens adorable too, don't get any ideas, I'm not looking to get married again."

"Well there goes the intricate romantic subplot for my next book."

"I'd say I'm sorry but I'm really not, you'll just have to stick to having the reader find out that the Carta thug has a soft spot for baby animals instead."

"You're not going to stop me from writing about you?"

I give Varric a long look as we approach the doors. "Could I really stop you?"

His laughter is answer enough and I step up to the servant on the door. "Herald Edric Cadash and Messere Varric Tethras of the Inquisition."

He nods, opening the door and announcing us as we enter. The nearest Orlesians stop and turn to look. I ignore them, choosing to look up and admire the architecture, whirling round as if I'm in awe at the decor. I'm actually checking all the shadowed balconies for any threats even if it is apparently against the code of honour they have to assassinate guests.

There's an interesting mix of views here. And I don't even have to sneak around to hear most of them, they're pitched for me to hear, part of the game no doubt. Declaring support without officially doing so by giving credit to the rumours that I could, perhaps be Chosen. Others remain steadfastly nuetral while some decry the entire thing. Unfortunate, or fortunate for those that insult me, that I have no idea who most of them are. Besides, I have better things to be doing with my time than tracking down men and women who seem to think themselves much higher than I suspect they are. Wealth is not the only form of power. I wonder if they'd appreciate knowing that they're so insignificant they're not even worth assassinating.

Enchanter Vivienne though, she's worth keeping an eye on. I will readily admit I was not expecting somebody who looked like they would be right at home ruling Rivain. The poise and grace as she walks is something half the people in this room aspire to and will never even come close to. She's dangerous. And that's before you add in her magic.

I can see in the others who move away, a subtle step or two, the wary eyes that glance from behind masks from her to the man held by her power. They're afraid of her, yet not I think, of her magic. An interesting distinction, but then everything I found out before coming here about the Montsimmard Circle suggests it is quite permissive in regards to mages leaving the tower. The people here are more used to mages, magic is not something to be locked up forever and feared. At least not before the rest of the Circles rebelled. It was something to be taken, refined and then only when safe let loose.

"Kill him," is all I say, I don't need extra enemies and a spurned and humiliated man often wants revenge,

The body hits the floor with a satisfying thud. Oh, I very much will need to keep an eye on her. There's a ruthlessness in there that rivals mine. She'll do whatever it takes to reach her goals.

Right now those goals appear to coincide with mine. Deal with the breach and stop the mages and templars laying waste to the countryside. With the power she wields with the mages that didn't rebel, I'd be a fool to turn down her offer of help.


	5. Chapter 5

Snow is still one of the big banes of my life; Ferelden snowbanks are often bigger than me and there's nothing like missing a turn in the road because everything is white to step off the edge and end up neck deep in snow. But sod am I glad to be standing knee deep in it right now. Snow is currently synonymous with Haven in my mind and that means no more Val Royeaux.

I was glad to leave that place behind, there was very little gained for the amount of time I was there. A completed contract from the North Orlais Carta clan and a highly regarded mage are the only two that truly stand out to me. Vivienne wanting to join us was something that's already proven to be a benefit. I spent the ride home questioning her on the topics I hadn't really wanted to talk to Solas about. It was informative, if long winded as I hid the ones I needed answers to amongst things I was already aware of or that held no interest for me.

The gates of Haven are open, people passing in an out and I am thrown a lot of salutes, bows and waves as we head past and towards the stables.

"It would appear they have missed you," Vivienne says as she waves away a soldier who comes take her delicate looking palfrey, "I am quite able to care for my own horse." The soldier nods hurriedly and heads towards me instead. Behind me Varric vacates the area with speed and I chuckle, he's only a few steps off outright running.

"I got im." A small voice says as the reins are taken from my hand and I stare at a familiar dirty face.

"And how exactly did you get here and where are your parents?" I ask.

"Hid in your supply wagon. An they're dead." The girl says as she slaps the soldiers hand away, "I said I got im. Don' a Steady?" My horse whickers, nuzzling at her hair and I shrug at the soldier.

"Looks like you've got yourself a new stablehand." She's certainly not the first foundling I've gathered and she won't be the last.

He sighs and moves to take another of the horses from one of the scouts. "With all due respect Herald, you need to stop picking up strays. C'mon then girl, I better show you where stuff is."

I smile. "They follow me home?" I say to his back. He snorts as he turns the horse he's holding and mutters something I don't quite catch, it clearly wasn't meant for me as the girl giggles as she follows him, Steady walking after her with more care than he's ever shown with me.

"Herald."

"Seeker."

"Leliana has news for us."

"I suppose stopping off at the Tavern first isn't an option." I ask rather wistfully.

"Hrrrmmmppph."

"I'll assume that's a no then." I say to empty air before following her towards the Chantry building. Nothing seems to have changed while we've been away, except for how busy Haven is, the area is slowly filling with more and more people, everytime I look round there seems to be more tents popping up in whatever spare space can be found. They'll be up the hillside or out the front gates soon.

The Chantry itself is blessedly quiet, only the soft murmurred chant from several sisters permeating the still atmosphere. None of them stop us as we head towards what has become known as our war room, though that could be because Seeker Pentaghast is storming through like a thundercloud.

"Herald. You're back. Good."

I nod at our Ambassador as I shrug out of my heavy coat and drape it over the back of a chair. "Given that I wasn't allowed to stop off at the tavern I'm presuming the news is urgent?"

"Of a sort," she says as she consults her notes, "more of a mystery one could say. The Ferelden Wardens have, how to put it, ah... Disappeared." 

"Disappeared," I repeat slowly, "we talking leaving or more weird magic shit?"

"We don't know."

"It cannot be magic," Pentaghast says, "they have to have left on their own."

"You hope," Rutherford says.

"So we need to look into it," I say firmly, "can you send out some agents or ask around or something?" 

"I can ask around, as you put it," Montilyet says as she presumably adds something along those lines to her notes. "We also have a second problem. I am not sure how to put this, your, ah, last boss, well."

"Just read this, it'll be easier." Nightingale says as she passes me a scrap of paper.

Ah. Lantos got that note written then. I read it over and snort, very nice. Setting himself up as a potential trusty contact and managing to put out that I'm at risk all in two paragraphs. "You have ideas I take it?"

Rutherford makes the first move, "they're Carta, they only understand muscle, we know where their headquarters are, we put them down and they'll stop coming for you." How naive. Our misinformation has worked well if he thinks all the different parts of Ferelden are under different bosses. And as for knowing where my headquarters are, unless he knows the right mountain and the right cave that just happens to have access to a small cut off isolated section of an old Thaig then he's not even going to get close. He's probably got one of our storehouses on his map, or if I'm unlucky a safehouse. I'll ask later, see if I can find out which it is.

Ambassador Montilyet sighs, "not everything can be solved with violence, Orzammar has contacts, shall we say, with the Carta, they could negotiate with them." I have to work to keep the smile off my face. I mean it would work. No doubt my daughter would find it hilarious to be approached about trying to talk me out of killing myself.

"I still say we pay them off, the Carta understands money." Now that's idea I like. Authorising payment from the Inquisition to myself. That's my sort of scam.

"Pay them off," I say, "we don't have time to go through Orzammar and starting a war with the Carta could lose us men." They don't argue with me, instead just nodding and making notes to pin to the table. it almost feels like this is too easy. I'm taking over without any resistance when I expected to have to fight to have my voice heard. Whether its the title they've gifted me with or my age or some combination I'm not going to point out to them that they're handing me control of an organisation that could shape Ferelden and Orlais for generations. "Now is there anything else or can I go for the ale I wanted when we arrived?"

"Nothing else. At least we always know where to find you." Pentaghast says as I scoop my leather coat up and shrug back into it.

"Build a second tavern, then you'd have to search for me," I say as I leave with a jaunty wave.

The cold air is like a slap in the face as I step back outside and I tug the collar on my coat up. Good thing the tavern's only a short walk away, I'd just gotten used to the warmth inside.

"Excuse me."

"Aye," I say, "I'm going to the tavern, you want to talk you come with me. Fuck if I'm standing around outside to chat."

"Actually I was looking to speak to somebody important, if you can point me towards them."

I stop and look back at the soldier, "congratulations, you've found somebody. Tavern." He falls into step beside me and stays quiet until I've gotten a couple of mugs of ale and we're settled at my usual table.

"Herald?" he asks cautiously with a faint head tilt.

I smirk, "correct. What's a Vint doing this far South? Apart from freezing."

"Huh, Boss said you were older, could'a mentioned you were a dwarf. Names Krem, I'm here to offer the services of a mercenary company called the Bull's Chargers. Though only in warmer places if you don't mind."

I laugh. "I presume you've got the authority to negotiate on behalf of your company."

"Sure do," he says as he starts to relax. I may be abusing my authority a little but being able to claim the table nearest the fire whenever I come in is a nice little perk. And it's not as if I ever asked anyone to move, they just do it all on their own whenever I arrive.

"I'll introduce you to Ambassador Montilyet later, she deals with all that sort of stuff."

"Ah, right, but I was also told to have you swing by the Storm Coast, we're finishing up a job there for a couple more weeks, you know, see us in action before you hire us and all that."

"Exchange the snow for rain you mean?"

I did not expect that comment to be quite so accurate.

I've buried myself under a leather cloak as I peer at Scout Harding through the torrential downpour. She's just in her usual scouting gear and appears entirely unphased by the rain. Crazy woman. Nobody should be that happy in this weather.

"So they were hired by one of the local Bann's to stop a smuggling operation?" Not, I'll note one of mine, unless somebody isn't passing on information correctly. 

"And they've been doing a good job from what we can see, they were down on the beach last we saw, probably still around if you want to go and chat."

"I probably should," I say with a grimace. Beach means water which means waves. I can already feel my stomach protesting at just the thought of going near the sea. Once on a ship over to Kirkwall was enough to show me that I do not have sea legs or whatever they call them. I despise sailing. Being so far from the Stone is bad enough, to then be tossed around until there's no way to keep track of the Stone because it's constantly in a different place is horrible. Just seeing the swell on the sea is enough to remind me of the feeling.

And oh fuck. Yeah, that's bad. If I keep my eyes on the beach I'll be fine. At least they aren't hard to find which means less time spent catching glimpses of the huge waves rolling in. Throwing up in front of the mercenary company I want to hire is not going to sell working for the Inquisition very well.

And Krem wasn't lying when he said you couldn't miss his boss. I feel like I need a chair or something to stand on, I'm nearly at crotch height with him. I'm glad when he sits himself down, I do prefer talking to a face without having to crane my neck up quite so far.

So. I don't just get a Mercenary company that comes highly recommended by the people I had Montilyet ask about them, but I get a veiled information exchange with the Qunari. Smart of them not to try and hide that. Despite the fact I can't afford to not accept him; I need the Qunari to stay well away. If they get it into their heads that converting us all to the Qun is the only way to defeat these rifts we'll be in trouble.

I have a feeling I'll need to be careful what I say around him too. For all that he says he's an agent he acts like a Vashoth, which means he's sodding good at his job. I do seem to be collecting spies and agents at an alarming rate. Any more and I'll have to wonder what my people missed when looking into Montilyet's background.

"They're going to pack up and head for Haven," I say a short while later as I try not to drip through too much of the tent I'm sheltering in.

"You'll be staying I presume?" Scout Harding says as she surveys a sketched map and adds notes to it. "We've got at least three rifts spotted in this area and there's probably more the further out we go."

"I am noticing they're clustering a little. Like some spots are easier for them to open."

"Something magical no doubt," she says, "Ask the Lady Mage you're with, if she can pinpoint areas that are, how do they say it, close to the Fade? Then we can check them out first."

"That's not a bad plan," I say, wondering why I hadn't thought of that despite noticing they were clustering together. "Might as well give me the locations of the ones near here, I can get them done while you're searching for more."

"Did I just hear you say we're going back out in this?" Varric asks from the entrance, a disgruntled look on his face, "my undergarments have only just dried off."

I wiggle my ungloved hand, "you know how it is; rifts to close, bears to fend off, assassins to avoid."

He snorts, "I'm a city dwarf I'll have you know. All this fresh air is bad for me."

"And rifts are bad for me." I wave him out, "try and keep a fire burning for us."

Harding chuckles, "I'll do my best."

To be fair to Varric, not only is this the middle of nowhere, this weather isn't the best for fighting in. Myself and Pentaghast are more sliding than running and Varric's got to be doing some interesting calculations to keep his bolts on target with the strength of the wind that's whipping round us. Vivienne doesn't seem bothered, her magic reaching out in an almost homing like fashion to the demons surrounding us.

I flinch away from lightning crackling too close for comfort before slamming my blades into the centre of the ragged cloth as the demon recoils from the magical attack. The scent of smoke and salt retreats a little. I twist round, flinging a throwing knife at the flutter of black cloth closing in on Pentghast's back and she whirls to face it when it screams. "Viv, hit them." I yell, flicking a hand towards the three clustered on the far side of the rift where they're just come through.

The flare of runes on the ground is near instant and I chance a look at the others. Varric's lining up a shot, unmoving in the face of a rapidly advancing demon, the Seeker is keeping two more occupied. Nothing near me for a moment. I raise my hand to the rift, feeling the shift and tug as the energy connects. It flares and crackles in my mind and I growl, mentally reaching out to tug at it, tug and snap it with a flare of pain I hide by whirling round to check there are no more demons hiding anywhere.

There aren't. I take a deep breath, appreciating the smell of wet grass and the faint metallic tang that always seems to hang in the air after lightning has passed through. It hides the scents the fear demons bring to mind.

"That was the last one correct?" Pentaghast asks as she heads over.

I nod wearily. "Last one the scouts have found so far."

"I suggest we return to get some sleep," she says and I certainly don't blame her. I'm sure I can feel places aching that I didn't know could ache.

"That would be appreciated." Vivienne adds. "If there are more we could wait for a dry day so we can ride to them."

I laugh, turning back to head along the cliff path. "It's called the Storm Coast for a reason; there's no such thing as a dry day. And just so you all know, I'm taking the spot next to the brazier."

Varric arches one eyebrow, "already claimed it."

Pentaghast strides past, "and I will be sleeping there by the time you arrive."

"Fuck." I say vehemently as Vivienne joins Pentaghast at a fast walk. "Sometimes I despise being short."

"So sayeth Andraste's chosen Prophet and so must it be true." Varric says mournfully as we watch their longer legs take them round a bend on the path.

The Seeker was true to her word, she was already curled up by the time myself and Varric arrived back. I patted his shoulder and left him to settle down, an excuse about needing to go water a tree leaving me well alone, even from the scouts as I make my way out to the latrine. I spotted a small unnassuming pile of rocks beside the path with a scrap of dark green fabric fluttering from underneath them. If anyone else noticed it, which I have no doubt the scouts have, they'd probably think it a grave marker and leave it be. To me it's a request for a meeting.

"This is where we're exchanging notes now?"

"Only place that aint being watched," I whisper back as I take the thin parchment roll that's offered to me and tuck it away inside my coat before it can get too wet. In the dark my contact is nothing more than a shadow against a tree. Not that I need to see her, I recognise her voice, the faint lisp that comes from having a scar through her upper lip a giveaway tell. "What news?"

"Been lying low, that mercenary band nearly took Zar's group out thinking they were those fucking human raiders that have been causing problems recently. Figures are on the sheet, bit down given the disruption but we've still got a good market in Kirkwall when we can actually get ships out. Lot of mages up there hiding out in the hills I reckon."

"Mercenaries are dealt with. I've employed them on Inquisition money, they're heading down to Haven as soon as they pick up payment from the Bann."

"Sweet," she says in a near hiss and I catch a flash of teeth as she grins, "we can see about getting back on track with our shipping."

"Keep me updated. Send messages through Lantos if you have to, he can get them to me."

"Will do Boss." She fades back into the trees as if she was never there and I wander back to camp. I do like it when things unintentionally come together.


	6. Chapter 6

"Enough!" Silence abruptly falls in the small room and I reach up to run a hand through my hair. "I'm going to Redcliffe to talk to the mages."

"I don't think that..."

"I. Am going. To Redcliffe. To talk to the mages." I say again, slowly enunciating and letting a hint of a growl enter my voice.

Rutherford opens his mouth again before closing it, a frown etched on his face, before he gives me a shallow nod. "Herald."

"I will be taking Varric as he's worked with apostates before, Pentaghast because she makes a great bodyguard and Vivienne because she is a mage. And yes, I'll take a group of your soldiers," I say cutting Rutherford off before he can say a word, "and I'll agree to nothing with you but I have no doubt I'll have a few unseen watchers." Nightingale smirks and inclines her head.

"And I'm right here and my name is Cassandra."

"I'm well aware of that."

"Then stop calling me Pentaghast." She adds a pained sounding, "please," after another moment.

I smile. "You sure? I quite like Varric's Seeker too."

"I would prefer you not emulate him."

"Very well, first names it is, Cassandra."

The Hinterlands are as delightful as last time we visited, though the reduction in number of buildings on fire and spells being flung at us is a positive change. Inquisition soldiers are holding a fair amount of the land now, several of the abandoned keeps we found have been made into temporary headquarters and none of the rebels from either side have had the courage, or possible enough people, to oust us from them. With a force in place a lot of the refugees that didn't head to Haven are cautiously moving back into the countryside and back to abandoned farmsteads and crops. They likely won't have a good harvest, but it'll be better than none come winter.

"So where are we heading to first darling?"

"To find this Warden Blackwall, he should be on route to Redcliffe."

"About Redcliffe," Vivienne says, "you have got a second set of clothing with you, have you not? Another coat at the very least?"

"Ahh," I do believe I'm in trouble, "No? I've got fresh underthings in my pack?"

"You are the Herald of Andraste."

"No, I'm not."

"Don't interrupt dear. You are, whether you want to be or not. The mages need to see you as the Herald. They need to see an authority that can protect them from both the Templars and from themselves if need be, while providing them with what they need to survive outside the circle."

"I can't just wave my hand round a little?" I'm enjoying this. It's nice to see somebody else so adept at the game and pretending to not understand it is letting me ask ridiculous questions to keep myself entertained.

Vivienne hums slightly, lightning flickering between the fingers of one hand as she thinks, "you could, in fact I would suggest it is a good plan, however you need the rest of the look to complete it. And that," one hand sweeps over me, "just won't do it."

I look down at myself. "What's wrong with it? I repaired any holes and the stains are mostly scrubbed out."

Behind me Varric ducks his head into my back and I can feel him shaking slightly. "Don't think that's what she meant Edric," his voice is muffled but still loud enough for Vivienne to pick up.

"No, it was not." She sighs, "you need new armour. Something befitting your station."

"I can't afford that!" I protest.

Behind me Varric sits up. "Edric, I think the Inquisition can afford the expense."

"Oh," I say slowly, as if only just realising that fact, "well I suppose then. But no bright colours."

"A royal blue would suit you." Vivienne says, eyeing me up like I'm a doll she can dress up.

"No. Dark green if you have to add any colour." The Carta use colours to identify each other, (at least when on official business), I'm not going around in the Marches cell colours.

"How about some silver to add some contrast and give it all balance?"

"I..." I slump a little in the saddle, the perfect picture of a thug who's never had the means or a reason to dress up in finery and doesn't see a reason to start. "I suppose?"

My clothing and armour has always been more geared towards intimidation, it's how the Carta tends to work. With Vivienne and Josephine in charge of my wardrobe I believe I'll be heading more towards impressing the people we meet. I see why it will work and I can even grudgingly accept that it is the better choice for the Inquisition. I just hate standing out so much, blending in has served me very well so far.

At least it won't be ready for a while. Vivienne will need to speak to Josephine. Which means I get to keep my comfortable coat for now as we head up towards where the Warden was last seen.

He certainly fights well enough to be a Warden. I pad over to the last man that's trying to crawl away and cut his throat. "That certainly wasn't how I intended to make your acquaintance," I say once it's just us. Cassandra has gone to corral the horses which sensibly didn't stay put when we vacated them without much warning.

"Oh?" Is all he says leaning on his shield.

"Edric Cadash, so called Herald, rift closer, dwarf. I'm looking for the Grey Wardens, they appear to have vanished, all but you."

His shoulders stiffen, fingers that were draped over his shield curling before he consciously relaxes them. "I see."

What are you hiding Warden Blackwall? "I was hoping you could tell us where they've gone."

He sighs, shifting and picking up his shield. Was he hiding surprise then? "I'm a recruiter, I work on my own," he turns away, taking the shield over to lean against the side of the house he appears to be living in. And isn't that strange, a house for a roving warden. Is he hiding from the rest of the order? Can't be, not keeping his name like he has.

"The Wardens will have to be a puzzle for another day. I think you can agree that," I gesture towards the rift that is still visible in the sky, even this far away from the mountains, "is a bigger problem than darkspawn right now, can't you?"

"I suppose so," he allows. I wait. "You want me to join you dont you?"

I smile. "That I do."

By the time he's packed his belongings Cassandra has returned with the horses and Varric has a sizable pile of recovered bolts. "Back to the Crossroads. I have some things to sell, we can rest up before heading on to Redcliffe." 

"Will you be coming with us?" Vivienne asks as she looks over Blackwall in much the same fashion she did me. I have a feeling he may find his clothing vanishing too and a new wardrobe appearing.

"To Redcliffe? No. I'll head back to Haven."

"Suit yourself." I'm not bothered either way.

I lay a pouch full of dried herbs on the broken wall at the Crossroads that Lantos is using as a trading surface and he hums. Nobody is paying us any attention, or no more attention than anyone else is receiving. He's just a merchant doing business with a customer and who's going to interrupt when the cutomer is their precious Herald?

"Good quality cuttings," he says aloud, his hands ask a different question, shielded between the wall and his body from anyones view but mine. _Orders?_

"I've got another set if you're interested?" _Deep-Mine. Leave. Watch. Details later._

"Let me see them then." _Understood_ The gesture is sharp, he's no doubt curious about why we're pulling back from Val'Ammar so soon after taking it back. He knows as well as I though that we can't risk such a conversation in the middle of the Crossroads. I drop another pouch on top of the other and he opens that one too, carefully inspecting my offering. "I'll give you two silver for the lot," he offers.

"Six, and you give me my pouches back." Neither of us need the money, but dwarva are expected to haggle and we wouldn't want to let down the sterotype.

"Three, I keep one pouch, I need to store them."

"Five and no, I'll be collecting more."

He sighs, "fine, four and the pouches are yours."

I nod, "deal," I say clasping his hand to seal the deal.

He grabs the first pouch and bends down, transferring the herbs to his pack. I grab the second pouch and crouch beside him, offering it out when he's done with the first. "The human, full black beard, calls himself Blackwall, get me details." I mutter. He flashes another acknowledgement at me and hands both the pouches back along with my silver.

I stand up and roll my shoulders back before heading over towards where Varric is working on part of his crossbow. He nods at me as I settle down on the step below him and lean back, tipping my coins into the pouch I keep on the inside of my coat and away from any potential questing fingers. "One Warden recruited, settlements checked up on, watchtowers inspected, acquired goods all sold, another rift closed, just Redcliffe to go and we can head back to our nice warm beds."

"Not bad for a few days work." Varric says as he snaps something back into place and squints down the sight.

"Not bad at all, at this rate we might be home before the week's out."

He raises an eyebrow, "well, now you've gone and cursed us."

The problem with statements like that is that the current state of the world seems to take it as a challenge.

First challenge. There's a dragon in a valley next to one of the camps we just set up. A fully grown, if I'm not wrong because there were baby dragons too, mother dragon. I got to spend several hours helping haul rocks to make a makeshift barricade. The overhanging rock and passageway will keep an angry mother dragon from raining fire down on the heads of my soldiers while our new emergency wall should keep curious baby dragons from wandering in. I'm not the only one secretly awed by the sight, there was a steady stream of soldiers and scouts arriving with very important messages that just had to be delivered in person.

Second challenge. There's a rift that's decided to park itself right in front of the entrance to Redcliffe. That's not too bad, except for the whole messing with time aspect.

There's nothing like destroying a demon and turning to the next one only to see it finishing the motion to send a barrage of energy at me that then hangs in the air, moving slowly enough that I can simply duck aside. To then see Vivienne's lightning do the same? Something very wrong is going on. The rift closes like every other one has, nothing strange in the feel of the magic that flows through me and I put it aside for the moment. I need more information before I can work out what is going on.

Redcliffe is, well, lets just say it's not what I was expecting. I've been here before, passing through. I was expecting tents and mages huddling round fires. To find they're already moving to the castle or to other accomodation is mildly worrying. The fact that they didn't know we were coming to talk to them is beyond worrying. Grand Enchanter Fiona apparently doesn't remember me. And she was offered a contract, a mere two days after retreating from the Conclave.

I let Fiona and Vivienne speak for a moment as I think it through. I have only one explanation and I don't like it at all. How do you beat somebody who can simply go back in time and change any defeats into victories?

If I met Fiona in Val Royeax... And then didn't. Did we already ally and succeed in closing the rift? And then somebody went back, offering this alliance to the mages to stop the breach being closed?

That somebody is not who and what I expected. And yet, I shouldn't be surprised, Tevinter does tend to have the main share of mages dabbling in things they should not. He's not as good at the game as he'd like to think he is. He's not doing this because he wants to, but because he needs to. There's something forcing his hand. If I can get him talking, gloating even I might be able to work out what it is, find some leverage. Without that I have no idea how I can defeat somebody who can rearrange things to suit his purposes. It's to no avail, his son calling his attention and he leaves, the majority of the mages that came with Fiona trailing after him like a flock of sheep.

Cassandra and Vivienne look disgruntled as we leave, frustrated with the lack of useful information. Varric on the other hand gives me a knowing look. "Well?"

"Bit amateur but it got the job done." I say, opening the paper that had been pushed into my hands when I caught Felix.

"Come to the Chantry, you are in danger," Varric says quietly when he plucks it from my fingers. "Intriguing. A trap do you think?"

"Where did you get that?" Cassandra asks.

I smirk, "From Felix." I hum, "possibly a trap, but not one of Alexius' making, he was far too concerned about him for that to be a ruse." I turn towards the Chantry building without waiting for any counterarguments or discussion. I'm so very done with this entire mess. There's using magic to get your way and then there's fucking with forces I suspect shouldn't be fucked with to win.

I need these sodding mages so the big rift can be closed and we can work out how to get this mark off my hands. Then we're done. The Inquisition can fix the Chantry on their own, that is not my problem. And trust me, they don't want it to be my problem. I'd happily burn every single Chantry building to the ground and start again.

Strangely enough finding a rift inside the chantry building does not improve my mood. Nor does finding another Tevinter mage.

"Magister Pavus," I begin.

He cuts me off, "you Southerners, not all mages are magisters you know."

"Look, Altus Pavus," he whirls back to me and I cut him off before he can say anything, "Magister Alexius wishes to negotiate me. I know he's playing with time. I'm going back to Haven to gather some more forces, then I'm going to walk in, get whatever it is off him, then I'll walk away with the mages."

"Awfully blunt aren't you?"

"I'm having a bad day." I say, voice edging into a growl despite my attempts to remain calm.

"Aren't we all? I come in with you and I'll agree to your terms. Not that you can leave me behind, I know what I'm looking for."

I beckon him down and he obligingly dips his body so I can talk quietly into his ear. "I'm sure I can find out what I'm looking for easily enough, Altus."

"Was that a threat. Well, you are delightful."

"Fucking sodding nuglicking cock," I mutter, "no, that was a promise. I'll send a raven with when and where to meet." I stay here too long somebody is going to be missing body parts and it assuredly isn't going to be me. I ignore his cheery farewell as I stamp out the door. I am fucking done with today.

It's a good thing Haven is several days away even at a swift pace, it gives me time to cool off so I can resist the temptation to resort to violence as I get things organised.

"Herald."

"Commander." I say flatly. I'm not in the mood for a man many years younger than me to tell me I'm making a mistake. I miss my Carta. They don't fucking argue with me once I've made a decision.

Something in my tone must have finally got through to him as he pauses, as if rethinking what he's going to say, "if something should go wrong, we wouldn't know for a while. So, ah, could I ask that one of the scouts take one of Leliana's birds with them."

"And what, if you don't get the bird you know it was a trap?" That's not a bad plan actually. I'll give him credit for that one. "Go ask Leliana, one of her scouts can take it."

He nods and turns on his heel leaving me to think as I stare at a map of Redcliffe and the castle. It seems simple enough. I'll go in the front door all polite like, Leliana and her agents will sneak in and kill or disable any soldiers that are there, depending on who they appear to be supporting. We'll take another couple of days here before we're ready to set out, rest up so we're in top form as i have no doubt there'll be a fight somewhere along the way.

"We may have a problem." Cassandra says as she strides in.

"Oh, and what might," there's a familiar figure behind her, "fuck."

"I know, I said I'd meet you there. Small change of plans. Alexius is planning to go back to the Temple and kill you before you get that mark. Thought you might like to know."

"You are rapidly becoming a sight I don't want to see Altus Pavus, you only bring me bad news."

He shrugs one shoulder, "I'm gracing you with my wonderful company, you can't have everything."

I sigh, one hand rising to rub at my temples. "Change of plans, we'll leave tomorrow at dawn. Somebody let Varric know," I peer round Dorian at Cullen and a soldier I recognise, despite being in simple Inquisition colours as undergoing Templar training, who are hovering in the doorway, "and find him somewhere to sleep please, he'll be coming with me."

"Him. Him? My name is Dorian, as I've already said. Though I do appreciate a Southerner who knows that not all magi are Magisters."

"Dorian," I interrupt wearily, "get out."

The room clears quickly, the door shutting with a soft thump that dulls the everpresent Chant that's being read out to help sooth those who enter the Chantry for help. So Alexius is going to go back... No. If he went back, no matter when he went, if it worked I wouldn't be here thinking about him doing it. Which means he has never gone back that far. And since he collected the mages just after the explosion happened I doubt it's the magic which isn't working. The only explanation is that he isn't going to do it.

Of course, now I just have to work out how to stop him, but the fact I'm here to try means it will work. Somehow.

My good mood hasn't abated by the next morning as Varric valiantly tries to sleep propped up against my back as I whistle a jaunty Dwarven mining song that fits the beat of the horses hooves.

Dorian slips away before we reach Redcliffe, hurrying back to the castle, he needs to return before word of our arrival is sent lest Alexius get suspicious. We rest in the village, leaving the horses in the care of our guards before we set off. I must be almost getting used to the guards Cullen insists on trying to send after me, it feels strange to have just Varric and Cassandra at my side as we enter the castle. It is also reassuring. The same sort of feeling I get when I'm with one of my kin who will have my back no matter what. Varric I could accept doing so if he actually knew who I was, half his business is probably tied up with mine, but I certainly didn't expect it from a Chantry enforcer.

Alexius is no less... unhinged? No, that's not the word I want. He's focused, determined, yet there's something just not right. I sensed it when we met, briefly, it's stronger now. Why the fuck would an apparently logical man, a magister with power to spare come South. Why try and get time magic working in the first place? I'm missing something and I have no idea what.

He seems happy enough to talk though. In my experiance there's only two types of people that are happy to talk to an anemy so freely. Those with nothing left to lose or those who think they've won. Which he is I can't tell. Are we both waiting for different things? No matter. I don't have a choice, I must wait for Leliana's agents to infiltrate the castle and take down the Tevinter guards he brought with him. 

Listening to what he doesn't say is just as informative as what he does. These Venatori, whose leader he doesn't mention by name, they were set up before the conclave. Which means this mysterious leader is likely the true enemy. The one to cause the breach, to play with magic that somehow stuck itself to me when I got in the way. The one that's out there somewhere pulling strings and plotting.

I was hoping to track down the Templars when we were done here. I fear it's too late now... Unless we can get that amulet and make it work. That's a thought. Perhaps worth pursuing, do to him what he tried to do to me. Take his allies before he even knows he should be making allies of them.

Movement out of the corner of my eye, A faint glint of steel and a body being lowered to the floor. Credit to Nightingale, her people are good, there's barely a whisper of sound to betray their presence. I smile at Alexius. His eyes dart round the room, seeing the bodies of his guards, now replaced with my people. At Dorian as he moves to stand beside me. At the blade I've pulled and hold ready.

He meets my eyes and smiles back, a grimace of taut flesh over teeth. I step towards him and he wraps his fingers round the amulet, magic flaring around him like a haze. A crossbow bolt lodges in his shoulder, too high to kill him but he staggers back, the magic flaring and pulsing as his concentration is broken at the last moment.

The spell completes.

Everything is acid green, a whirling tumbling blur of places, faces; a babble of voices incomprehensible in their vastness. There's nothing to hold onto. Too much to see and hear at once.

Then there is Stone beneath me feet. Solid, stable, I reach out, it's instinct to ground myself. There is nothing but a sickly need laced through the Stone, a winding sickness that's spread through the very rock like blood through water.

The Stone screams.

The air in my lungs is hot, smoke filling the air. Only one thing smells like that, one place - I need to get in there. I need find her. There's arms holding me back, a voice I can't understand. Don't want to understand. I lash out at the arm holding me, blade slicing through the air and into flesh.

There's a curse beside me before I'm under water. The smoke and fire gone in an instant. I surface, coughing.

Dorian spreads his arms, a fine line of blood tracing up one arm. "Back with me yet?" he asks carefully as I stand there, chest heaving. I blink, shaking water from my hair so it stops dripping into my eyes and put the small knife in my hand back into its sheath on my gauntlet. Sodding fuck. My hand brushes over the empty sheathe at my belt and I have to look round, squinting through the murky water to find the blade I'd had in hand when we were dragged here and had obviously dropped without even noticing.

"I'm good," I say, my voice scratching slightly as I wade through the water. Two corpses are smoldering near the gate and I hold my breath as I check their pockets for a key. Not that I couldn't pick the lock, it's just easier with a key.

"You're sure about that? You were just screaming." Dorian points out as he prods at his arm and apparently decides it's not worth bothering with.

"You've heard of the Dwarven Stone sense, yes?" I ask, leaning against the metal bars for a moment.

"Yes. There's still a decades long debate going on in one of the universities as to what exactly it is."

Of course there is. Sodding Vints. "Well, that spell or whatever it was: sudden lack of Stone, and then wham, lots of Stone again and oh yes, red lyrium which feels like shit," I raise my hand, the green light glowing even through the glove I've taken to wearing, "and then add in that the mark really likes wherever the fuck we are." I can give that as a reason for losing myself. My issues with fire are, well, mine. I can survive him flinging it around as long as I'm aware that he's about to do it.

"By like, you mean..."

"Is fucking painful and I don't fancy going outside to look at the sky." I say, turning away to get the cell doors open. I thought I'd started getting used to the mark, to the flare and twinge that comes and goes. Now it's a constant throbbing pain that makes me want to dig it out of my own flesh more than it ever has before; it wasn't even this bad when sealing the big breach the first time.

"Well, if it makes you any happier, I think we're still in the castle," he says, coming up to my side, apparently happy that I'm not going to try and gut him again.

I give him a withering glare, "given that Alexius was playing with time, no, not really much happier. We need to find out what the date is."

"That would be a good starting point yes," he agrees as the lock finally clicks. Sodding thing was going rusty. I can tell that maintenance of, well, anything really, hasn't been high on the priorities list down here for quite some time. The halls are silent, not even rats roaming round, the drip of water is the only thing to hear beyond our footsteps. The mark is unchanging, a cold brand on my skin and the press of red lyrium filling my mind is a distraction I could do without.

There are mages in the cells that we pass, most too far gone to speak coherently. None worth trying to break out, I reckon most wouldn't even notice the open door anymore. Still we check every cell, I have to hope that Cassandra and Varric are still alive, and still able to communicate. I need to know what's going on and they may be my best source of information beyond guesswork.

We find Varric first, the soft humming echoing round the cell as I approach the door. He stands, staring at me like I'm a wraith. "Varric." he doesn't say anything. "I need to know the date."

He laughs, a rough sound, "Harvestmere nine fortytwo." He steps forwards into the light. "Too late Edric. Far too late." That's nearly a full year.

"Not yet," Dorian says and I use the time to steady myself and pick the lock on Varric's cell. "If we can find the amulet I can open a portal, send us back."

"So this won't have happened?" Varric asks slowly, heading straight for the cell opposite when he's freed. I have to resist the urge to draw back as he passes by, away from the lyrium I can feel on him, in him.

"No. None of this."

He comes back out, arms wrapped round his crossbow. "Well then, lead on."

Cassandra is the same, I can see the lyrium like veins beneath the surface of her skin, a crawling infection that has taken hold and isn't going to let go. The only other one we find in the lower cells who can respond is Fiona and she's in a far worse state, the lyrium no longer confined to beneath her skin. Much as I'd like the extra sane mage around there's no way she can be moved.

And Leliana who we come across by chance higher up in the castle. I have seen what happens to those who have been tainted by the Blight. I am surprised she is still standing, let alone talking to us.

I keep hoping there will be others, extra hands and eyes and bodies in the fight I'm sure will be coming. The corridors are silent. If only the song in my head was so quiet. That is loud enough I cannot ignore it, the clashing harmonies only reinforcing the need to get this dealt with, if only so I can think easily again.

The higher we go the more I'm really not liking this. There are corpses scattered round, most with no marks on them, yet they look like they've been dead for longer than a year. As if the very life force was somehow drained out of them leaving nothing but a husk behind. More magic of Alexius' making? Something to do with the breach? Demons? I'd prefer to know what might be lurking, ready to kill me, all the better to avoid it.

"If it makes you feel any better, we're nearly there." Dorian says when I stop for a moment, resting on a doorframe, my hand pulled in tight to my chest.

"Great," I mutter, trying to force my hand to unclench so I can tug the glove off. The mark is a solid glowing green, little flickers of energy running up my arm like lightning. It hasn't looked like this since we were at the breach above Haven.

"That's not looking good." Varric says, and I can feel the taint at my shoulder as he peers at my hand.

"All the more reason to keep moving," I say, jamming my hand back into the glove before his reaching fingers can touch it. I'm not ready to find out what red lyrium and the mark would do if they made contact.

"Well, there's just this courtyard and then a few corridors to go and we'll be in the main hall again." Dorian says as he opens the door and steps out. Varric promptly walks into his back when he stops.

"What's wrong?" I ask, stepping forwards once they've untangled themselves.

Whatever they may be saying, for I know I am hearing somebody speaking, is drowned out. The courtyard is the sky? Or is the sky the courtyard? Pain rips up my arm, my hand clenching round the hilt of my dagger so tightly that I fear I'll manage to dent steel. And the voices. So many voices screaming at once. The veil is being torn apart, the real world and the fade merging together. The stone walls had shielded me from the worst. There's no stone here. Just twisted, corrupted lyrium and tortured spirits being dragged through into a world which will destroy them.

"Herald."

"Edric?"

"Edric!" I blink at Varric. Did he just slap me? "Close the fucking rift, we can't hold demons off forever." And he swore. Varric doesn't do that much. I follow the tug at my arm as he braces me and lifts it towards the rift, trying to ignore the crawling feeling of red lyrium too close by. The mark burns, flaring into life almost before my hand is raised. It's tugging at me, pulling, the energy never seeming to stop. I really should stop it shouldn't I? It's a struggle to break the connection. It doesn't want to let go.

"Edric. Drink." The bitter smokey taste of a stamina draught is coating my tongue before I can protest. I hate using them, they work nicely but they kick like a bronto when they wear off. In this case, I don't think I was going to stand on my own without it, that rift felt like it was trying to merge with the sky, to add to the swirling chaos there. Closing it... I could feel my strength ebbing out as the mark tried to close more and more of the sky instead of just the little rift in front of us. I think I was lucky to break off the flow when I did or it would have just drained me till I dropped dead. Not a pleasant thought.

I can feel fingers at my belt, replacing the vial and I swallow, taking a few deep breaths before I speak, "when did we get inside again?"

"You passed out for a moment after closing that rift."

"You are well enough to continue?" Cassandra says, peering down at me.

"Give him a moment." Varric pats my knee and pushes himself to his feet.

"We do not have a moment."

"Much as I hate to say it, Nightingale's right," I say before Varric can argue. "We don't even know if Alexius felt us arrive and has been preparing."

Varric smiles as he extends a hand to haul me to my feet. It isn't a reassuring expression as he cradles Bianca once I'm up. "He can prepare all he wants, this time I won't miss."


	7. Chapter 7

"So let me get this straight. You ended up in the future? And what did you call it; pretty shit?"

The map room is a little crowded with so many people inside, but I'm not going to repeat myself more than once, and despite his jovial appearance, neither I think, will Dorian.

"Just a little." I say finally, when Cullen says nothing else and looks expectantly at us both.

"I'd suggest our dear Herald is not quite stating the gravity of the situation. I'd prefer to say end of the world type shit." Dorian says.

"I doubt it was that bad." Cassandra refutes, clearly unwilling to believe him.

"We had to kill Alexius," I raise my hand to quell the protest that the man in question is in our dungeon, "past Alexius, to get the amulet off him. Dorian started working the magic to open the portal thing. I had to stay with him, once it was open it would only last a moment. We had to rely on you to defend us. They walked over your broken body to get in Pentaghast. They dragged Varric in screaming and left him to die. And they slit Leliana's throat when she ran out of arrows."

The room is silent, "And that's not counting the fact that you were all suffering from red lyrium poisoning or the blight. The Keep itself had been given over to the lyrium too. And the sky? What fucking sky! There was nothing but the breach. I can assure you Seeker. It was that bad."

"Well then, we need to ensure that doesn't happen." Josephine says, ever the voice of reason.

"We stopped that future by coming back and taking Alexius into custody. He spoke, back in the past, of many things that could be of use." Now that has caught their attention. "Somebody record all this because I intend to leave you to figure it all out and go for a drink."

Josephine lifts her ever present board, "I'm ready when you are Master Cadash."

I start with the biggest thing. That Alexius was working for somebody, or something else. The Elder One. Whatever or whoever that may be was the one that cause the breach. Whether it the tear into the Fade was intentional is a different question, but the fact that I wasn't meant to end up with the magic anchored to me was clear. Alexius claimed that the Elder One considered that I had stolen the magic. Stolen the gift. That brings up more questions on who it was intended for in the first place. For him? For somebody else?

He also seemed unharmed by the red lyrium, if we can work out how he managed that. Maybe we could set him to figure it out, put him to some use. Supervised of course. We need a way to deal with the red lyrium that isn't just tossing it into a lava pool and then keeping an eye on the pool to make sure it's not somehow still doing weird shit even when melted into nothing.

Alexius was a fool, but at least one motivated by love not hate or greed or revenge. He was clearly trying to go back in time enough to let the Elder one keep the mark by getting rid of me before I interfered. At which point this Elder One wouldn't know about their deal. The time magic itself is at least is easy to deal with. Alexius was very specific that it is somehow tied to the breach. He can't go to back before the explosion. It also means once the breach is closed we won't have anyone else figuring these things out and playing havoc with time. Could you imagine several of them in use at once and being used for petty things.

On the other hand, before we close the breach I do have one very important question. I pull the amulet from the pouch at my belt, "we have a mage here," I jerk a thumb at Dorian, "who can work this. How does anyone feel about going to get the Templars?"

I stroll out of the Chantry whistling a jaunty tune and the crowds part for me as I wander through Haven towards my usual haunt when I'm not sleeping or being dragged into planning.

"That's not something to drop with no warning," Varric says as he slips into a seat next to me in the Tavern. "It was worth it to see Cullen's face though. I stayed long enough for them to start arguing about how to go about approaching the Templars."

I manage a smile, "I have no idea why they didn't think of that. Just seemed the logical solution to me. Alexius tried to steal our mages, why don't we steal the Templars?"

"That's your Carta talking." Varric says. "Soldiers think in logic, we sneaky types get to think of all the weird shit."

I peer down at my ale, "weird shit," I repeat with a soft sigh, "you should write a book about this, you can call it 'Weird Shit Happens', or something."

He laughs, "I will. You'll be the hero in shining armour."

"Fuck heroes." I mutter. "I aint getting out of this am I?" I don't give him time to answer, "I thought it'd be simple enough, grab some extra power, close the big breach, work out how to remove the mark and that's it. I'm free and well away from the Chantry nugshit, let them find who murdered their Divine. Now... This Elder One? He isn't going to stop with just the Chantry, it's not just their problem. That future can't come to pass."

Varric reaches over and claps my shoulder. "Welcome to the club my friend."

"Club?"

He raises his ale in a salute. "Of being dragged into saving the world without being given a choice."

I shake my head even as I raise my own mug and let it clink against his. "To saving the world and weird shit."

We drink in companionable silence for a while, just observing the coming and going or people through the tavern. "So, you're off to grab the Templars." I raise an eyebrow at Varric when he suddenly speaks up. He seems confused for a moment before he slumps in his seat, "we're off to grab the Templars?" he corrects himself.

"You're starting to get the hand of this."

"Why couldn't you take anyone else? Tiny would make a great bodyguard."

"Tiny? Wait, no. Iron Bull?" Only Varric would name a huge Qunari 'tiny'. He nods at my deduction. "The Chargers are out somewhere in the Hinterlands dealing with a potential demon wolf problem and tracking down the last few mages and Templars that are still causing problems out there, they won't be back for a week or so."

"Vivienne?"

"You think taking a mage on a Templar recruitment mission is a good plan?"

He winces, "ah, point taken, so that rules out Solas too, and Dorian beyond the necessary amulet usage."

"And like fuck am I taking a mouthy elf with me." Sera would get herself, or all of us, shot given that she doesn't seem to have a brain to mouth filter and any concept of subtlety or tact.

Varric sighs, "I'm going to go turn in then, I'll need my sleep if I have to spend several more days on the back of that nag of yours."

I smirk and raise my mug in a salute as he heaves himself to his feet. Just for that I might ask Steady to travel in a lovely bouncing trot. He might not be much to look at, the Ferelden breeds aren't known for being beauties, but he's a proper well bred courser.

I probably should get to bed too, but first I've got a few errands to run. The first is simple enough, a brick at the bottom of the tavern pulled out, one small tightly rolled parchment exchanged for another. These are simple updates from the rest of my operations and orders out. Quick and efficient and I'm not having to spend too much time meeting various different messengers. Though I do prefer to be kept up to date in person it's just not worth the risk.

My second errand does need to be a face to face meeting, time travel isn't something one can easily explain on paper. No one pays me any mind as I stop at the forge and leave one of my knives with them; I may be their Herald, but I'm also just another soldier giving them more work to do. A soldier that feels like he can wander round the forge and look over their shoulders which makes giving one of the workers a message fairly easy. Though he looks just as annoyed as the rest at my intrusion before I'm waved out with a polite but firm farewell.

It's late enough that one hooded soldier coming out of the forge and turning left away from Haven isn't anything of note to the sentries. Dwarf you know, got to be a smith. Probably going to go get more firewood or something and it is cold, why wouldn't they be wearing something to stop the wind. I would have thought it would be harder to slip away, but no, apparently they trust me not to be doing anything out of line just because I haven't yet run away.

I find a sheltered nook in between two rocks and settle in to wait. I'm not sure how long it will take for him to get out of the forge. The sky has darkened from it's faint golden streaking as the sun sets to a fiery red that clashes with the still swirling green by the time I hear footsteps along the path. I click lightly and whistle. The footsteps pause before turning in my direction and he peers cautiously round the rock before approaching.

"Father." His arms wrap round me in a solid hug that I eagerly return. He smells of charcoal and steel.

"You need a bath," I mutter, reaching up to brush hair away from my face and finding my hand coated in soot.

He lets me go and shakes his head like a wet dog. "Eh, the lakes frozen and there's no time to be hauling water all the way up here and heating it for a full soak."

"Busy then?"

One eyebrow arches, "well you know how it is, that Herald figure keeps recruiting people and then we have to make them armour and weapons."

"What a fucking asshole." I say before sobering.

"What's wrong?" He asks, picking up on my mood.

"Alexius was playing with temporal magic, suffice it to say I've now seen the future. I need you to get word out very carefully about finding information on somebody called the Elder One. Alexius was working for him and I think he's the one who fucked up whatever he was doing with this." I gesture to my marked palm. "I know the plan was to just deal with that hole in the sky then get out, but we can't leave till this Elder One's dealt with."

"I had heard about the time aspect. You're sure on the rest?"

"We need to keep involvement on the sly but I'm mobilising the Carta to help win this war. There won't be a Ferelden left for us if we don't."

"Shit." He says, leaning back against the rock behind him. He doesn't sound surprised though, not nearly as much as I was expecting.

"You've got something you want to tell me," I prod when he stares out across the lake without saying a word.

A smile crosses his lips, it reminds me of his mother, "not yet."

What is that meant to mean? "Derrik."

He raises a hand. "I can't tell you yet, Dasher's orders. You'll know when it's time." I, what? My orders? "Go to sleep, if you're going to be an idiot charging into the past, you need to rest." He's as stubborn as I am, if he's not ready to tell me yet it isn't important enough to push him about.

"Don't sass me." I say, flicking my hand out, it barely ruffles his hair as he ducks. He's had too much practice at avoiding me.

"Go on in. I'll follow you later." I wrap one arm round him, squeezing for a moment before starting back down the trail to Haven. I'm halfway there before I realise I didn't tell him I was planning to go into the past. Which means he already knew... Now all I have to do is figure out what I did while there. Or will do. Time travel is fucking confusing.

Despite heading straight to bed I don't feel ready for another long ride as I slip into the Chantry to make sure everything is in place for the mages turning up while we're away. They'll need to be settled before we turn up with the Templars, it will make them feel safer having a section of Haven set aside for them. The Templars will be staying with Cullen in the army of tents he's building outside the main walls for lack of space inside.

We'll need to move somewhere else as soon as the Breach is closed, Haven is too small and too undefended for my liking. And that's without the mages and Templars. In fact, I'm going to go find Josephine before we set off and let her know we'll be moving, she can use the time we're gone, not that it'll be long what with us taking a jaunt into the past, to try and find a better defended location that will allow is to move in.

Josephine isn't hard to find, a small crowd surrounding her and I lean against the wall to watch as she efficiently works her way through the mix of complaints, requests, suggestions and deals she's being presented with. Pity she's not a dwarf, I'd recruit her in a heartbeat if she was. Unfortunately the other cells wouldn't pay attention to a human negotiator even if I were somehow able to get her to join the Carta.

The last petitioner is a fellow dwarf and I push myself away from the wall and amble closer, idly listening in as they negotiate. She nods politely to me as she turns to leave and I dip my head in return before watching her walk away, my polite expression switching to a scowl. She's not one of mine, which begs the question of who does she work for? Lady Korpin sounds like a rather pretentious name, Orlesian maybe. Yet another thing I need to have somebody deal with. I switch my glare to Josephine. She knows I was into lyrium dealing, why didn't she ask me for connections.

"We made sure she does not have links to the Carta. We wouldn't endanger you by allowing them in here."

Well fuck. I've managed to outplay myself by accident. I should be pleased that she's being so considerate, after all, any number of assassins could indeed slip in with a lyrium caravan. And have actually. They're all on my payroll though. "I appreciate that," I say, "but you know I do still have connections, I could help."

"We have several legitimate supply lines now." Josephine says, "here, take a look."

The sheet that's being held out is written in a neat flowing hand and I sweep my eyes over the names. Apart from the unknown Lady Korpin every one of those names are either fronts for my people or Merchant Guild that are supplied by my people. "Will that be enough for all the mages and the templars?" I ask to try and hide any other reaction to the list. That's interesting, how has she gathered so many names in so little time? In fact, how did she suddenly have so many Nobles from Orlais willing to move at a moments notice. Almost like she already knew we'd need them. No wonder she seemed so calm when I reported back from Redcliffe. How she never seemed to doubt us while Cullen fought us at every turn.

"I hope so, if not I'll use your contacts. I'd rather not though, your safety is rather important." She says, giving no indication that she might know something she doesn't. Well, she's got more layers to her than I suspected. I'll have to make sure I am very careful with what I say around her.

I waggle the fingers on my marked hand, "so nice to be loved."

"So, what brings you up here this early?"

"I can't simply come to say farewell to you Lady Montilyet?"

She laughs. "Flatterer. And no. What do you want Master Cadash?"

I grin back at her. "Well, since you asked, we need to move somewhere bigger and more defensible."

"I have been making inquiries already, should I move it up the list?"

"Yes. I'm hoping closing the breach will end the problem, but in case this Elder One is already on our side of the hole in the sky, I'd rather be somewhere a little more protected."

"I'll see to it."

"Thank you," I say, taking my leave of her with a bow and heading out to the stables. We'll be heading out as we are and using the amulet once we're away from Haven. Dorian has assured me he can find something to do to pass a couple of weeks before making his own way back to Haven. There was mention of the creepy whispering skulls with crystal eyes, which quite frankly seems a rather morbid topic to pursue. That seems to be mages though. Find something gruesome and study it.

The feeling of shifting through time is no better than it was the previous times, except now I'm ready for it. Varric appears no more than a little nauseous, which is no more than expected as a surfacer with almost no connection to the stone. Blackwall is fine and once again I feel like I'm missing something. Cassandra is curled up on the floor, her horse nudging her hair in equine concern.

I share a look with Dorian as he leans over, hands on his knees and gulps in a few breaths. "Urgh."

"Yeah," I agree, "See you in several weeks, take care of yourself."

"Of course," he says before sniffing, "though how one can take care of oneself without proper amenities I don't know, Ferelden is so backwater it's several centuries behind."

I laugh, "I'll be sure to commission some hot baths just for you when we move somewhere else."

He grins back, spinning his mount round and cantering off, "I'll hold you to that," floats back to me.

I whistle for Steady and shake my head at Varric, "I've got an errand to run, ride with them, I'll catch up."

"An errand, what sort of errand?"

I look steadily at Cassandra, "Don't you think it strange that Josephine just happened to have all those Orlesian Nobles owing her favours? How about the fact she never seemed to choose a side while we argued over where to go? How about the fact she didn't even bat an eye when i announced we#d been time travelling?"

"Well, shit." Varric says with a low whistle, "that's why you insisted on coming back this far not just the time it would take us to travel to Therinfal."

"You are going to go tell Ambassador Montilyet now. Before either event has occurred?" Cassandra asks.

I smile, "How else are we to get Orlesian Nobles all the way to Therinfal without extra time," I point out as I swing up onto Steady. "I'll read the Ambassador into the plan and we'll lie low for a few weeks. I'll catch up with you at the old ruins to the north east. They'll be a decent place to stay out of trouble."

Varric's grumbling is a counterpoint to Cassandra telling him to stop holding on so tightly as we part ways. He's too used to riding with me, I don't mind his death-grip. In fact it's almost strange to be travelling without it.

I reach Haven as night is falling and leave Steady on the outskirts of camp. In the dark he's just another picketed horse, nobody should be getting close enough to identify him as mine except the sentries and they tend to be focused on what's further out. I wait for full dark to settle before making my way in, I'm a lot more recognisable than a horse.

My first stop is to find Derrik. I know he has a tent out on the north side and it's not hard to find, the green scrap of fabric tied to the main pole with its beads woven into it are a marker that's hard to miss. I slip the ties free and enter. "Derrik." I say quietly as soon as I'm in, pulling the canvas closed behind me.

In the darkness I can't see, my eyes still adjusting but I clearly hear the sound of metal on leather, "one day I'm going to accidentally kill you when you sneak around," he hisses.

"Sorry."

"I doubt that," he says, "so what's so important you have to come find me in the middle of the night."

"It's a long story," I say, finding his bedroll by feel and sitting down. "In a few weeks I'll set out for Redcliffe Castle."

"Oh, they've decided to go recruit the mages?" I can make out him leaning in now, clearly curious.

"I decided, not them." I'm not going to let myself be overrun by a council. They want my mark, they will ultimately do as I say, even if they think it's their idea. "It went splendidly, we had a lovely time travelling side trip before recruiting the mages."

There's silence except for our breathing and the faint tap of his fingers on his thigh, a gesture I still haven't broken him of, as he thinks. "You've already recruited them? Now you're taking advantage of being able to time travel."

"That's my boy." I say, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. "We're going to see if we can recruit the Templars now. I needed to come back to get the Ambassador on the right path for setting things in motion. I figured this would be a prime time to get some lyrium shifting this way, if you get the drift."

"The Ambassador will know she'll be getting both... She'll be on the look out for any suppliers won't she?"

"That she will." I push myself up, wincing at the ache in my knees, "not a word to me until I'm back from collecting them both, I only just figured out what I am doing today, last night."

He laughs, "that's a new one. Go on, set things in motion and let me get back to sleep."

I see myself out as he settles back into his bedroll with a soft sigh. It's going to be a while before I see one of those. I remember a time when missing a night of sleep was not important, now I can feel a headache easing into place and a stamina potion is starting to seem appealing despite the taste. And the kick when it inevitably wears off.

It's remarkably easy to get up to the Chantry, the village of Haven is still just a village, its inhabitants are not soldiers, they are trusting Cullen and his men to keep them safe while they do the rest of the jobs that keep an armed force going. It means I'm not stopped, not from entering the Chantry, nor from slipping into the Ambassador's room.

She wakes quicker than I expected, and I catch the hand I suspect is going for a weapon hidden under her pillow. "Just me." I say softly.

"Edric? Can you relight the fire?"

"Oh. Of course, I forget you humans can't see so well in the dark." The glowing embers had been quite enough for me to get around using.

"What's going on?" She asks, already sitting up and alert by the time I'm finished stoking the fire into a decent size. She's also thrown a robe around her shoulders.

"I have a job for you. And neither Leliana nor Cullen can know of it."

"Why not?" she asks sitting up and pulling the robe closed, gesturing me to the two armchairs by the fire.

"Things will become apparent in time," I say as I take a seat, trying not to relax too much lest I fall asleep.

"And how could you possibly know that?"

I reach into my pouch and hold the amulet up, the faint green glow, so reminiscent of the mark on my hand emanating from the runes on it. "As I said; time."

Her eyes widen. "Time," she repeats before reaching out an arm and grabbing her board without even looking, "tell me everything you can."

I smile. Lord Lucius isn't going to know what's hit him by the time we arrive. Especially as all the rumours will put us at Redcliffe. Hopefully our arrival will put him off balance.

Once it's actually time to approach Therinfal I'm exceptionally glad to be on the move again. Cassandra has been fretting and Blackwall's not been much help, the two of them wondering how we're going to convince Lucius to join us. I've tried to be as non-commital as I can. I don't think my true feelings on the matter will go down to well. You see, we don't need Lucius, or the Templar commanders. We just need the Templars. Cut off the head and the rest will fall into line. Besides, I have a bad feeling that Lucius is already under the sway of the Elder One.

Being welcomed in feels too much like Redcliffe for my liking. There's just something here that's not sitting right with me. Something that feels like it's just outside of my hearing rage, a feeling that is telling me to run.

Hearing that the Lord Seeker has been fixated on me specifically, not the Inquisition just fixes my suspicion about the Elder One somehow being involved. I wouldn't want to have walked into this with no warning, now though, the best way to spring a trap is to set your own on top of it or to force it to be sprung too early.

The Templar, one Knight Captain Denam, that comes to speak to them has every sense I have ramping right up. It's not just his tone, but the fact that I have realised what I was feeling that was making me so uneasy. There's red lyrium here. I'm moving before anyone can say a word, the introduction still partly unfinished as I sling a blade into the shadows. The thump of the body hitting the floor in a clatter of armour jolts everyone else into motion.

I'm already throwing another blade, the archer dropping like a sack of turnips. Good thing I trained to hit a target with both arms or I'd be screwed given that the sodding mark is on my dominant hand. A moment later the knight beside him gains a crossbow bolt through his skull. "Nice shot."

"Thanks," Varric says as he spins round to line up his next target, the crossbow firing with a satisfying thunk, another templar dropping.

I sweep the room, no more visible beyond the Knight Captain who's on his knees with Cassandra's sword at his neck.

"That was interesting." Varric comments. I'd let him know I can feel red lyrium in the fortress if I had more time. We don't. Every moment here I can feel it singing in my mind. 

I ignore him, kneeling in front of Denam, "I've got a question for you. I'd suggest you answer it."

The Knight Captain looks at me, a sneer twisting his features. "Go fuck yourself."

"Red lyrium." I say.

He smiles, a twisted thing, "it'll make us stronger. Better. Those that won't take it are being weeded out, the order doesn't need the weak."

I can see it in his eyes now I'm looking for it. Small flecks of red. He's nowhere near as gone as some of those we encountered in the future. This must be what it looks like at first. His emotions and reactions are being twisted. He's being called to a new purpose without even realising it. He's can't have had too many doses, I have to wonder if there's some way to reverse it before it gets too far along.

I reach out, tapping his temple with the pommel of my dagger and he slumps to the ground. At least I remembered not to give him a Dwarven weight tap. Last time I did that I killed the human I was trying to bring in alive. My men had a good laugh over me forgetting my own strength. "we can come back for him. We need to find Lucius. He's giving them red lyrium."

"Shit!" Varric says eloquently. "I'm right behind you."

"Red lyrium?"

I swing my head round to look at Ser Barris. "Bad shit. Sends them crazy, lets go save as many as we can." He nods at me, apparently willing to believe me as we make our way out into the courtyard.

It feels like half the sodding castle before we finally locate Lucius and I step forwards when he doesn't move. There's a trap here. I know there is but I can't see it. I'm not quick enough when he turns round, his arm snagging my sleeve and dragging me towards him. No, not to him. To the portal he's created.

I should be glad it's not more time travel, that I'm still the only one that holds that power by having the amulet safely tucked under my armour. Instead it's the other option that tends towards green as a primary colour palette.

The Fade is not how it was last I visited in my dream. I'd guess because Lucius pulled me to a different part perhaps. Wait, he pulled me... Am I here in person or am I laid out on the steps dreaming? How would I even know the answer?

I recognise the place. Of a sort. The Temple, yet not the Temple. Small sections thrown together to create a passageway that could perhaps resemble it. The bodies likely drawn from my mind and I step around them. This is a memory. it is done and cannot be changed.

Finding my advisors at the end of the walkway is unexpected until Leliana speaks. Or whatever has taken on her form. I smile, setting myself for a fight as it puts a knife round Cullen's throat. "You think to pull a reaction out of me Demon? I know this isn't real."

"A reaction," the demon seems surprised before it changes tack, "You won't be fooled then. No matter, I can take just as easily as I could trick you into giving me what I need." Leliana and Cullen fade away and I shift backwards as Josephine steps forwards, a blade twirling in her hands.

"And what might you need?" I ask.

"You," it says, the predatory expression on Josephine's face a strange thing to witness. 

"Well, I don't intend to let you, so..."

It laughs, vanishing into the mists and its voice echoes round me. "What you intend is irrelevant. The Elder One will kill you. I will become you, take your place."

"That's your plan demon?"

"Yesssss." Cullen hisses out and I whirl round, "I will know who you are now. So I may act as you until those you lead are convinced I am you."

I smile. "Good luck with that. Dwarves are stubborn and my secrets are my own."

"Are they really? Dasher."

It laughs when I cannot cover the flicker of surprise at that. I will not be leaving till this demon is dead, all memory of it erased from the Fade. That may be harder said than done as it is always a step in front of me. It isn't finding what it wants, what it needs though. No matter what memories it tries to fit itself in it is not right. Too obvious. I should not be surprised about that, its very name does not lend itself to understanding. Envy is the longing for that which other people have, it is not the gaining of that item.

I almost think its taking another tack and yet, there's something about this new voice. Confusing, and yet. If I listen, truly listen there is sense in what he says. It says? He's a spirit, like Curiosity, yet somehow in the real world and also in my head. And Cole is not a name I expect from a spirit. How confusing, as most magic blighted things are. But with answers I can find a way out. Knowing that this is an instance in time, a single point where thought is quicker than reality is good to know. Less to worry about than being caught in the Fade.

Yet my mind looks like the Fade? Intriguing. I suppose that's another quirk of the mark, I can't think it looked like this before. Still his idea has merit. Now I know this is me. I should be in charge. If I can bend the Fade to my will, my own mind should be easier. It's mine. And I do not let go of what is mine easily.

I smile as Envy finally shows himself again. He's confused and angry. A nice welcome for him into the mind of a dwarf. The real world returns with a green flash and Envy tumbles to the floor, his true nature revealed. That shocks the Templars into action, all of them lower ranked and afraid. Steadfast in the face of danger, but afraid. They're easy to give orders to, easy to lead.

When we're done with Envy and the officers it corrupted the general rank and file Knights are only too happy to follow me as Barris and Fletcher, two of the only surviving officers both state they will come with us. They can rebuild the order under our guidance, the same way the mages can build their own circles and enclaves.

I should perhaps have warned them about the mages being in Haven.

And possibly warned the mages that I was collecting the Templars.

Ah well, I can't be expected to think of everything. I was too focused on making sure we arrived at the right time so we didn't cross over with ourselves, since obviously it hadn't happened.

I had gone straight to bed when we got back. I'd been trying not to show it but apparently fighting a demon in your own head is exhausting, being on the road for days after that hadn't let me catch up on sleep. All I know when I wake is that it's not been long enough and I'm going to kill whoever is making such a racket outside my little house.

Barris and Fiona. And a good group of each of their charges. I run a hand through my hair.

Really?

"You are all acting like fucking children." I roar in the gap between angry words and the faint glimmer of ice around Fiona vanishes as quickly as the blue glow around Barris.

"Herald, we demand that you tell the mages to obey us."

"Herald you told us we were to be free."

"Shut up." I step onto a nearby wall so they can all see me. "You will all fucking listen to me. Look up there," I point at the breach with my marked hand, feeling the flicker and twinge of pain as I point at sky. "Take a long look. That will grow again. Slowly but surely it will keep growing. Your little squabble, it won't sodding matter because you'll all be fucking dead."

"But."

"I said shut up," I growl, "you're here because in various ways, you fucked up and I pulled your asses out of the fire. I told you both I wanted allies. But right now while you're acting like children you're going to do as I say, or the Stone as my witness I will make you regret it."

There's silence, even the villagers and soldiers having stopped to listen. 

"Here's how it's going to be. Fiona, you and your Mages will set up over there," I point to the small area beside the Chantry. Barris, you and your Templars will go find a spot outside with the rest of the soldiers. It's as far apart as I can put you because I don't want to hear these arguments again.

All I hear from both sides is Chantry this and Chantry that. Fuck what the Chantry said. Magic is no more dangerous than a sword, I don't see you stopping the soldiers out their from practising. As for the mages turning into abominations... have you ever considered that some of that might be avoided if they weren't terrified that you would drag them away and kill them or take away their sense of self?

I have no idea where the Chantry went wrong with its teachings, perhaps it was just time? But you should be helping each other. Mage wants to practise new magic, have a Templar on hand in case things go wrong. Templars out hunting down bandits, take a healer with you.

'Magic is made to serve man, never to rule over him.' You know what I hear from that? It doesn't refer to mages being in power. It refers to each individual mage." I let my eyes flicker over the crowd that's only kept getting bigger. "Your magic should serve you, if you let the magic take control... well, I'm sure you know what an abomination looks like."

Fiona bows her head, "we will follow your directive Herald," she says, waving her mages away, they disperse quickly enough.

"Fletcher, go get the men settled where the Herald wants us," Barris orders and waits till his men have gone too before stepping closer to me as i jump down off the wall. "And what will you do if we don't abide by these terms?"

"Might I remind you right now just who controls the lyrium supply? It certainly isn't you," I say mildly. Nor, despite her thinking otherwise, is it Josephine.

Barris takes a half step back, "is that a threat?"

I smile, "no. That was a warning."

He takes a deep breath before putting his fist to his heart and bowing, "understood. Herald."

"I'm going back to bed, tell Nightingale to wake me up when you're ready to go deal with that sky."

I wasn't really speaking to anyone in particular, but the nearest soldier salutes me, "right away Herald."

I nod in satisfaction. I cannot wait to get that breach closed and see if the mark can be finally removed.


	8. Chapter 8

I force my eyes open, staring blearily at the small figure crouching by my side, small fingers patting at my cheek. I want to reach out, ask what she's doing out here, but nothing wants to move and she scampers away. Fool child. She's going to die if she stays out in this weather.

Like I am.

I'd laugh if I had the strength to do so. I don't. I can't even feel the cold anymore. I close my eyes again, the snow's too bright.

"See, see, I told you." There's a thudding sound, someone bigger and heavier making their way towards me.

"Fuck. Uhhm, don't repeat that kid." A deeper voice says as another hand rests on my face. "Don't you dare die on me," a pause, "Herald." The hand is removed and I'm rolled over and lifted over a shoulder.

"He's going to be alright isn't he?"

"He'll be fine, run along and tell them to call everyone back." There's the soft crunch of boots on ice before the sound is lost in the howling wind. "Do not make me a liar father, I will not be impressed. You did not just face down a fucking blighted dragon to die in a sodding blizzard."

I faced down a dragon? That doesn't seem like me. I'd tell him that but I'm just too tired, my eyes slipping closed as I hear other voices and the sound of boots on the ice.

I did face down a dragon!

A blighted archdemon that really shouldn't be out and about given the lack of a blight if I want to be exact about the dragon I faced down. And I have a name for the Elder one now. Corypheus. I can't believe that plan to drop an avalanche on his forces worked. We were all too tired to fight.

Mages and Templars alike drained from closing the rift. They had somehow bolstered me, as if I was merely a conduit to channel the power of the mark. Which is not something I appreciate thinking about. I don't like being used. But right now what's important is it worked, the breach closed and my mind was suddenly a lot quieter.

And then He came and the only thing we could do was buy time for people to get out, try and save as many as we could.

Which leads me to wondering where we are. There's heat nearby, though I can still feel the cold. I slit one eye open, canvas greeting me, the fabric flickering with the torchlight before I let it slide closed again. I'm in a cot, furs piled around me, and I have no idea how long I've been sleeping, long enough they have got the tents they managed to save put up.

"Nearly two days." I recognise the Orlesian accent without having to open my eyes again.

"Didn't realise I'd said that aloud," I mutter, slowly testing my limbs until I'm sure moving isn't going to cause me too much pain. There's far less than expected all over. I'm sure I had broken ribs. I suspect I've been healed by magic while I've been sleeping. I'll need to find out who by and thank them, and possibly apologise, dwarven magic resistance isn't the easiest thing to work delicate magics around.

I sit up slowly, a hand steadying me when I waver and I finally open my eyes, squinting against the brightness of the torch. Mother Giselle smiles back. "They will be glad to see you are awake." I follow her gaze to the group gathered nearby. Yes, I can see they will, if only because I might be able to stop them tearing each other apart. She hands me my boots so I can put them on as she updates me on what's been going on while I've been sleeping. It's nothing that I didn't expect. A lot of fear, the attack and then the cold eating into peoples belief that they're doing the right thing. Even with the mages that know how to heal they're low on supplies for the injured, and the cold is adding more injuries as many escaped only with what they had on their back. The supply wagons they were able to grab were due to be moved out to the Hinterlands, not to shelter the entire population of Haven in the mountains.

I have to wait for the world to stabilise itself after I rise to my feet. Last thing I need to do is fall down in front of what seems like the entire population of Haven and then some. I shake my head at Nightingale, waving a hand as if to encircle the camp and she nods at me. She understands that I want to see how things are looking for myself. She might even understand that I just don't want to deal with the headache of having Cullen, Barris, Fiona and Cassandra all shouting at me at once.

I circle round the camp, nodding at people I recognise, gritting my teeth and blessing those that ask for it and accepting praise from others. If they had heard anything he had said they wouldn't be so free with their congratulations.

"You're alive! The blacksmith dwarf said you was," A small frame barrels into me, the last few words being muffled in my shirt, "bu'they woud'n le'me seeya."

"Well of course I'm alive kid, I'm a dwarf. We're really stubborn."

She sniffles and peers up at me, "I'm gonna be a dwarf too."

I chuckle, "is that so kid? Well then, I'll have to teach you won't I?" I ignore the disapproving look from the nearest human that's just passing by. Children change what they want all the time, I'm not hurting her by indulging her.

"The horses won't feed themselves kid." I nod at Dennet as she unwraps herself from me and scampers back to what she was doing. I'm glad the horsemaster managed to make it out, and with what looks to be a good bit of his herd. "Do you know where we're heading to Herald?" He asks quietly as he comes to stand beside me, "we've got enough for them for a couple of days, there was some grains in one of the wagons going out to the Hinterlands but beyond that, nothing."

"To be entirely honest, I've just woken up myself. I've not gone to speak to them yet, I needed to see how everyone was."

He hums, "well, let us know."

"I will," I promise before continuing my trek.

I almost miss Solas, probably would if I wasn't a dwarf with our superior night sight. The faint glow of green flames, the weird stuff he calls veilfire is just visible, creating a dark shadow I only recognise from his posture.

"Solas."

He turns his head before going back to staring into the darkness, "Edric."

"What are you planning now?"

I have a few ideas, but most of them run a little too close to giving out Carta secrets for my liking so instead I shrug, "I haven't got a clue." I join him in staring into the darkness, "I'm hoping Josephine will have something for me. I asked her to look into finding somewhere more defensible before we went to close the Breach."

"A wise precaution. A pity it was not earlier. But what is done, is done." It almost sounds like regret in his voice but then it's gone, "I passed over these mountains before, and in one dream there was a castle, I do not know what state it is in here, but in the Fade it was not somewhere I could see being taken easily."

"We need to get off the mountains anyway, it would not hurt to look as we pass. Get a few scouts to go see if they can find it."

He flashes me a faint smile, "I should be able to find it again. The spirits called it Skyhold."

The snow seems endless as we weave through tracks and pathways that are not really either, more places where the rock and snow are stable enough to bear the weight passing over it. Despite how suddenly convenient Solas' knowledge seems, he does point the way to go with an ease that suggests he's been up here before, yet tempered with the occasional confused look as he stops and looks round as if comparing places with his memories. Perhaps it was some years ago, the movement of ice and snow can break rock and shift the landscape enough that he's not entirely familiar with it any more.

Either way he hasn't steered us wrong as I give Varric a hand up onto the rock I'm using as a lookout as people stream past. The towers visible in the fading sunlight causing people to push on in the hopes of reaching it before true dark sets in. I can understand the wish for proper walls instead of sleeping out on the ice again.

"So, that's our new home." Varric says, one hand shading his eyes to try and see it better. It's never going to work, surfacer he might be but dwarven eyesight is still better in lower light. "Come on, lets go get a closer look." I let him tug me down off the rock, my own descent far more graceful than his as I keep him upright.

"I'm planning to find a sheltered corner, spread out a blanket and sleep." I say as we follow the slippery packed snow down towards the base of what is either a mechanical lift or a very big set of stairs.

"You'll not even look round once?"

"Not tonight." I say as I skirt round the crowd that's drawn to a stop, priviledge of being the Herald as they step aside to let us pass. It turns out to be both stairs and lift and I can sense the weary resignation in Varric as we glance back outside to the injured that haven't yet been seen by the mages, after all, they can only heal when they have the energy to do so and that means good food and sleep. There's only so many they can do a day. Varric's having the same thought I am and I don't like it one bit. Got to be done though. If everybody waits for the lift they'll still be down here tomorrow evening. The lift needs to concentrate on getting the animals, baggage and the injured who can't walk up.

"Herald, if you wait for the lift..."

I wave the soldier away and raise my voice enough to be heard by those nearby, "save it for those who have need of it. My legs are working just fine."

"For the record. I hate you." Varric says when we're halfway up as he pauses for a moment to catch his breath.

"For the record. I hate myself." I glance back at the stream of people slowly climbing up after us. "Worked though." Apparently shaming most of them into proving they can keep going is what was needed to get them moving. Watching the lift slowly rise past us, loaded up with as many bags as can be packed on it I have to wonder how the horses, druffalo and bronto will take being winched up. Most of them were pastured behind Haven to keep them out of the way, just a few kept near the front for messengers to make use of when they needed to, so given how many of them I've seen, both when I spoke to Dennet and how many there are pulling carts I think they might have had enough time to grab most of them, which is a relief. Replacing those would have been a hard thing to do. But I don't envy the handlers getting them up to Skyhold.

For how majestic it looked on the outside, there's going to be a lot of work needed on the inside. Still, the walls are solid enough, even with the fallen spots to make me feel a lot more secure. I find a quiet spot to settle for the night and have the scavenged bedroll down in record time and myself laid out before anyone can find me.

"Herald?" If I pretend to be asleep they might just go away.

"He's sleeping. Ask Josephine or find him tomorrow." Varric says as the sound of another bedroll being laid out reaches my ears. There's a moment of silence before I can feel him settling beside me, close enough it'll help to keep us both warm. There's been a lot of snuggling going on these past few nights, even the staunch puritans giving in and accepting that being warm and embarrassed is better than freezing. "You make a very convincing sleeper."

"Thank you Varric."

"You're quite welcome."

I reach out an arm and poke my finger into the nearest part of him, "shut up and go to sleep."

It takes days to fully explore Skyhold, and even then parts are still closed off until everything can be properly evaluated. there's a few spots where it might fall down if you lean on the wrong wall. It turns out that the visible parts are only a small part of the building. If you don't look too closely you'd think it's just the towers which we've set aside for the mages, templars and soldiers, (the soldiers will be taking the one in the centre to try and be a buffer for the others). And then a smaller space that when cleaned out will make a healing hall and some good workrooms on one side. Stables on the other side. And the main hall with an attached library with a rookery and the kitchens below. It certainly didn't seem like enough room to hold everybody until we found the rest of the tunnels. Turns out there's nearly three more levels under the kitchens. There's enough rooms for people and storage under there to hold a force nearly three times the size of ours.

They insisted I take a room at the top, apparently the room I wanted to have, a nice cosy stone walled place tucked into a corner of one of the bottom levels, wouldn't convey the right message to any visitors. Ambassador Montilyet declined to answer why I might be taking visiting dignitaries into my bedchamber. Instead I was gifted with a room far bigger than I prefer. I'm starting to think that maybe this is an Antivan design or something to have everything in one room. Maybe I can get hold of some screens so I can have some privacy at least. Separate my bed from my desk.

I'm nearly alone in my wandering now. Any stragglers without a job have been wrangled into helping somewhere, be it in cleaning, cooking or healing. It's given me time to look around without being bothered, memorising locations and just drifting along, enjoying the feel of stone all around. it was that drifting which has led me to my current exploration.

Of all the places in Skyhold, I think this might be my favourite and I've not even reached my destination yet. I'm now below even the deepest of the bedchambers and I can feel the Stone surrounding me, a warm weight in my mind. It just feels so good to be able to relax into that feeling and not be flinching away from the blighted lyrium.

"So. Lord Inquisitor. Your titles are getting grander and grander." A familiar voice says as soon as I step through the door at the bottom of the stairs.

"What can I say, I do like my titles."

Derrik chuckles. "Welcome to the undercroft. Harritt's gone to bully the kitchen staff into sending us food. Till then, just us." I glance round before I drop over the ledge rather than go round and take the stairs. Looks like this is where they're setting up the smithy.

I pull him into a hug as soon as I reach him. "You have no idea how much I've been wanting to do that," I mutter into his neck and I don't let go till he pokes me in the ribs. "We need to move some of our operation up here from Jader. Not enough to weaken our position there, but I want a good presence here."

Derrik nods, head tilting ever so slightly before he smiles, "you want this place don't you? Skyhold. When the Chantry crap is dealt with."

"Right in one." This is why he's my current named heir despite being my youngest, he thinks like I do. "Get a good mix in; soldiers, scouts, crafters and traders."

"I'll pass that on."

I wander over to the balcony, he follows, mirroring my pose as we stare out over the snow. "How many did we lose at Haven?"

He turns to face me, still leaning against the railings. "None. Old Jed lost a hand and Sheria will have a limp, but none lost."

"None." I repeat, shaking my head because that's just... "Fuck."

"Only Jed's caravan had arrived in Haven, the rest went to ground as soon as they saw the army. They've been reporting in for the past few days, got the last note this morning."

"Talk about being sodding lucky," I say. If that luck will hold I'll be a very happy dwarf. It's one reason why I'd like to get so many up here and into support roles, less chance of them being killed. Who am I to stop the humans from throwing themselves into danger and getting killed instead of my men and women?

"When people arrive, see if you can arrange for them to make friends with the humans, see what information we can get, and give us an in if we need to spread any rumours."

"Will do. Oh, try not to look surprised when you see him, Uncle Cabot has taken over the Tavern. They opened up this morning." That's not the exact relationship, but calling him... Third cousin once removed I think it is, would get to be a mouthful. Most of the clan are either uncle or cousin, it's just easier.

"I'll be sure to pretend I've never seen him before."

"He'll probably get a kick out of that." Derrik says with a smirk. "So, anything else before my dinner arrives?"

I shrug slightly, "Sort of." I'm not entirely sure how to explain what I'm wanting to ask. "Corypheus, he said something to me, I'd like a second oinion before I think about telling the humans, especially Chantry believing ones."

"Go on," he prompts.

"He said; I have seen the Throne of the Gods and it was empty."

Derrik blinks slowly, "well," he says, "that is something isn't it?" 

"Mmmmm." I agree, wordlessly asking for his opinion.

"So, was it already corrupted before they got there?"

"That's the question isn't it?" I say, staring out over the sharp peaks, "if the Magisters didn't cause the Blight, what did?" What did they find in the Black City. "And if the Throne was empty, who and what was talking to Andraste?"

He laughs, a rough chuckle, "Now I'd pay to see you ask some of the Sister's that got out with us that question."

It is an amusing thought, however, "probably best I not spread it around for now. I want to do more research into it, there's got to be more information."

"In bits that nobody has put together because it doesn't seem to be linked?" Derrik says, turning back to the view and propping his chin on his hands. "I'll add it to the list of things to ask about."

The sound of the heavy door opening stills my tongue as Harritt's voice rings out from behind us, "I got us enough to have more later, oh. Inquisitor. Ah. Welcome to the undercroft."

"Harritt." I say with a nod. "I came down to see what you'd got set up and we were just admiring the view. I'll leave you both to your lunch."


	9. Chapter 9

"How anyone could have lived here I don't know. My boots are ruined."

"I know darling, they could have created proper stone paths instead of using wood."

"It must be so shameful, to live in such a state."

I had warned them that they needed to wear older clothing. There were plenty of spares in the storeroom beside the Chantry shrine, well, less spare than there were as we still had refugees pouring in from the Hinterlands and volunteers from elsewhere, but my point stands. The option was available.

"Could be worse, we could be in Kirkwall, Darktown is just as dirty but it also has people trying to kill you." Varric helpfully adds to the discussion and I sigh.

"Varric's right, I've been to Kirkwall, Darktown's is bad as a pile of steaming bronto shit." I may as well contribute, anything to stop them from complaining any more.

"Remind me never to visit then dear." I can't hold in the laughter, the thought of Vivienne picking her way through Darktown's streets is just too good.

"Count me out too. I like warm and dry. It's entirely too wet and cold here."

"Sparkler, might I point out that you're still wearing Northern fashion."

"Of course I am." Dorian sounds incredibly affronted.

"It has bits open to the air." Varric points out.

"You're one to talk, with your open shirts." Dorian says with a sniff.

Varric snickers and looks down at his tightly buttoned shirt and the scarf that's wrapped round his neck. "That's indoor wear. This is my 'I'm being dragged out into Ferelden winter wear'. There's several layers of cloth and armour difference."

"Dorian gives me a glare, "well then, I'll blame you, as the one to drag me out into this lovely Ferelden winter." I just raise my hands. I'm not getting involved anymore.

"How about this Sparkler, we could be back in Skyhold." Varric points out and I think he's got a good point. I expected Cullen or Cassandra to start organising things. But oh no, Ambassador Montilyet swept round in a flare of skirts and then took over. If you weren't injured she'd find you a job and protesting was worth nothing. The bevy of soldiers and scouts willing to come with us was much longer than I'd expected. At least we had enough volunteers to get word out quickly to all the camps spread over Ferelden and enough left over to join us on our lovely trip into the mire to deal with a rather rude Avvar without me having to order any of them out. Traipsing through a mire was apparently better then suffering through an Antivan nobleladies decorating.

"I'm starting to think Josephine was a better option. Being used to raise rocks might be demeaning to my skills, however it would be a clean and dry job." Of course, there's always one who likes to be different.

"It would be nice wouldn't it darling?" Vivienne says, one hand resting gently on Dorian's offered arm as they step over rain slicked rocks.

"And we could have a nice pot of tea on hand, not rainwater filled waterskins that taste like something died in there."

"Smells like it too doesn't it dear? These clothes are going to be fit for nothing but a pyre, the smell is never going to come out."

"If you don't shut up I'm going to toss you all into the deepest muddiest bit of this bog that I can find." I finally snap out as I push hair that's escaped its leather thonging out of my face. "What fucking part of 'Fallow Mire, it's too bad for the horses we'll have to walk', didn't clue you in that just maybe you should dress Ferelden style in old leathers that can't get any more ruined? You didn't, deal with it."

"Darling, why ever would I wear anything like that?" Vivienne says with a look that could sour milk. Honestly, you'd think I was telling her to wear clothing that'd been rolled in bronto droppings.

"I do believe that for once we're in perfect agreement." Dorian says as he delicately picks a foot out of the muck and places it back down on the next stable patch of ground he can find. I take a deep breath and turn round to keep walking. There is just no reasoning with some people. "As if I'd be caught dead dressed like that, such a shade of brown would do nothing for my complexion." Dorian says and Vivienne nods her agreement.

"Hey Dorian." I don't get more than a couple of steps before I stop and slip my blades free of their sheathes. Beside me Varric unclips Bianca from her carry strap. The mages keep walking, oblivious to the fact we’ve stopped.

"...I much prefer a solid black, some gold accessories, perhaps a splash of white in there."

"Dorian." Beside me Varric shifts his stance to brace himself, ready to snap his crossbow up and fire in a moment.

"Yes, what now?" Dorian says as he sloshes to a halt about five steps further along and turns to face me, arms crossed. Beside him Vivienne stiffens and lightning crackles up her arms as she finally pays attention to her surroundings.

"Fire mage," I say pointing at him, "walking corpse," I shift my finger to point into the bog, "deal with it please."

He turns his head to look at it, raises a hand and snaps his fingers. The corpse explodes into flames, all without him even touching his staff. "Ta-daaa," he says with a bow.

"Thank you,"

"Or not." Varric mutters.

"Vishante kaffas." Dorian growls out and swings his staff off his back, a strange purple glow shimmering over him as he wades through the knee deep water. "Stay dead. I am not in the mood for this sort of shit. I want to get to camp, dry off and try to forget that I'm in a bog." Half the corpses drop back into the water like puppets with their strings cut.

"Very impressive dear." Vivienne says as lightning arcs away from her to send another couple tumbling down again. I put my knives away and sit down on a rock. Varric takes one look and joins me as we watch them murder - remurder? - their way through the corpses converging on us.

"Darling, this would go faster with some help."

"You're doing fine on your own." I point out, waving a hand to indicate the patch of mire, which despite being mostly filthy water, is merrily burning away and the remaining corpses which are now shambling in any direction except towards Varric and me.

We wander into camp in good spirits, well, Varric and I do. Harding, bless her, takes one look at Dorian and Vivienne and sends them to the big tent wedged in the back of the camp that has a distinctive chimney for one of the braziers. "So, you got here. Bit later than I expected."

I grin, waving a hand towards the tent, "they were having fun setting fire to walkers, who was I to deny them that pleasure?" 

"Inquisitor or not, I will set you on fire." Dorian says from inside the tent, "I have mud in places I should never have mud."

"He tripped over something, ended up sat in the bog." Varric adds, rather unnecessarily as the scouts in hearing range all try not to laugh.

Harding chuckles, "well, we've been out all day, we've marked the easiest route through this place to where the Avvar have holed up. We've noticed mist tends to settle overnight, if you set out early it should cover your approach."

"Excellent," I say, "Usual tent routine?"

"It sure is, I'll see you in the morning."

I claim the first tent that doesn't have a bit of material fluttering from it and shrug out of my pack and toss it inside before feeling round for the material I know will be tied on the inside so I can move it to the outside. It's a good little system the scouts use to show which tents are occupied, means they only need to carry one third the amount of canvas for sleeping in as they use them in shifts. There's the bigger tent kept for anything that needs a meeting or a table, (or for mages that want to dry off after falling in a bog). It all comes down to the fact that it means I don't have to carry canvas round with me, that stuff is heavy.

Sleep comes easily and I wake to a hand on my shoulder. Harding most likely, I roll over to let her know I'm awake and blink. The tendril of silver-blue light that was poking me retreats, and the body hovers several dwarven paces away from me. "Curiousity?" I ask, getting to my feet and looking round. It’s not hard to deduce my mind has been dragged into the Fade again.

"Hello again," it says, floating a little closer, "you came back!"

"Not entirely by choice," I say, "you're a spirit." I made sure to ask around. Cole and Solas were both fonts of knowledge on the topic, as was Cassandra even if they did take opposing sides in the discourse. Of all of them Cole was actually the easiest to understand once you worked out his strange pattern of imparting knowledge.

"I am me." I laugh, was that not what I said when we first met? It seems to vibrate a little in place, "are you staying?"

"For a little while," I say carefully, "just as long as I need to." Solas had sounded very sure of himself when he explained that the Fade both mirrors the real world and yet can shift to what a person imagines should be here. If I'm convinced that the only thing here is harmless spirits and ghosts that reflect what happened in the real world I should be safe. It's the doubt that draws in corrupted spirits that prey on emotions that are best not exploited. At least, that's what I hoped he was trying to say. It's not like I've ever been taught what to do when dreaming.

"You feel like the barrier." It says, circling round me and letting a tendril of light flicker towards my palm. The mark is glowing a soft green, yet it is not painful as it normally is. It's just warm, a comforting warmth that I'd love to trade for the usual stabbing cold.

"The Veil?" I ask, to be sure we're talking about the same thing.

"That-which-separates-us." It says. That can't be anything but the veil.

"Is that a bad thing? I ask carefully.

The mist pulses slightly. "It simply is."

"Would you like to go beyond the barrier?" I ask, curious myself. Would it go through a rift if it found one? As going through seems to be what creates demons, the real world forcing them into a mold of our making unless they are remarkably strong in their beliefs like Cole is.

"I would," it says, mist expanding and brightening for a moment, "I could see many things there."

"Can you not see them here?" Solas said that he could view past happenings, memories or reflections of events.

"Yes. They are already done though. I would see what is going on now." I sit down, the ground beneath me pleasantly soft and I poke it before chuckling. Shapes to the will of those who are here indeed. So I have fade grass that feels like a plush cushion. Curiosity float closer. "You do not want me to go through that-which-separates-us?"

"No. It can... Hurt you." I don't know how to say what I need to, "it can change you. You wouldn't be Curiousity anymore."

It recoils, tendrils whipping back into the main mass as a shudder seems to pass through it and for a moment the centre darkens, flickering a pale red like flames. "I would not like that."

Nor would I. For a moment I had smelt smoke and salt water. Fear. Am I already changing it? "How about instead I tell you stories while I'm here?" I ask.

The tendrils slip back out, almost making it appear to waver happily, "I would like that."

"Okay, so," I hum as I try to think of something that won't upset a spirit, "how about I tell you about dwarves, you can't know much about us as we don't usually dream."

"Yes," it sidles closer, settling down opposite me and I get the distinct feeling it is like a child waiting eagerly for a nighttime story. I don't know how long I'll have here, but I'm in no hurry to go back now that I know my way out.

I expected the dreaming to have left me tired yet I feel like my body is well rested, just the usual aches and pains from sleeping rough at my age and the ache in my hand. I'm sat sharpening my knives as Varric appears and he joins me, stripping down Bianca with a practised hand.

"Ready for this?" he asks.

"No different from," a duel challenging my position as head of the Ferelden cell, "a good brawl in a tavern right?"

"Near enough," he says with a laugh, "suppose you're as used to fighting tall people as I am."

I shrug slightly and pick up the blade he attaches under his crossbow, "humans do tend towards being taller. They've not got our bulk though. Avvar have both."

"You've met Avvar before?"

"Vaguely. I was present while we did a trade," actually did most of the negotiating, "if that counts?"

"It counts, have you got my bayonet?" I test the edge before wiping the oil off it and handing it over. "Thanks."

"Thought we were going to have to throw mire water over you to wake you." I say as two more shadows appear out of the gathering mist. Dorian makes a face that eloquently sums up his disgust at the thought while Vivienne raises one eyebrow in a silent dare. One I'm not stupid enough to take: I like not being on fire or being zapped with lightning. "I hope you're ready to go as I'm leaving now."

I push myself to my feet and stride out of camp, looking for the path we need to take by the rocks on the ground, not an easy feat in the mist, but the scouts have placed the markers close enough together they must have known just how dense it would get. I certainly can't see more than a few paces ahead of myself at some points. It makes for an eerie stroll, especially the rift we come across, the entire area glowing with the light spilling from the tear in the veil.

We don't even see the Avvar until he's loomed out of the fog and is destroying demons with an almost careless ease. I don't relax until we're on our way again, no matter that he said he has no quarrel with us, I don't like having unknowns so close by with such limited vision. I'd be sure of him if he presents himself to Scout Harding to help. As long as his Sky Gods are telling him to fight the demons that come through the tears I couldn't care less about his beliefs.

We meet no others, the keep silent as we approach. "No sentries?" Varric whispers and I frown. I know the Avvar considered capturing my soldiers as a challenge to me and was expecting me to turn up, yet it feels wrong that there's no one at all waiting.

"Doors open." I murmur back. I do not like this. Not one bit. I sidle in, peering round the wall and almost raise a hand to flick several signs at Varric before recalling that firstly he won't know the variations the Carta uses even if he knows the basics of the silent language. And secondly I shouldn't be showing him that I know it. "Walkers." I whisper and he nods, passing it back.

Dorian does not look impressed as he strides past me, staff already glowing a sickly violet that pulses with a darker amythyst. I have no idea what he's doing but it's fairly impressive as the corpses just drop back to the earth when he sweeps his staff out. I don't think I'd ever see a mortalitasi in person, as far as I know it is considered anatheama in Ferelden. None of the apostates we've helped smuggle out over the years have ever known how to do it.

"I'd prefer to burn the bodies, stop them from rising again."

The rising sun is starting to burn the mist off, which will mean the smoke will be visible. Then again, it'll take a little while to catch and get going and he's down several sentries. The walkers must have taken them as they were moving supplies as there are a couple of broken crates left as if they were dropped in a hurry. "Do it." I'd rather not have reanimated corpses shambling after us when going to confront an unknown enemy.

The fire is left burning behind us as we push on, it's not far, the smoke barely a twist of colour in the sky when we find what I presume is their main camp. The Avvar who jumps to his feet, bellowing about being the one to prove himself by killing the Inquisitor is probably my target and I waste no time in heading in his direction. Best not to give him time to give orders to his men, although I'm noticing a few are already grabbing weapons and looking like they are going to join the fight. Seems we need to take him down quickly, if our information on the Avvar is right that should end the challenge and make me the leader of this group.

He's even bigger up close, definitely strong, probably slower hefting that hammer around. I run straight at him, smoothly ducking into a roll at the last moment. He is slow. Barely turning to meet me as I thrust my blade out. Something hits me, punching into my side and throwing my aim off as I fall. Instead of a killing blow to the inside of his thigh it hits lower as I tumble to the ground.

I roll back to my feet. The hammer crashes into the ground I was occupying mere moments before. Something grinds in my side, a dull ache that tells me not to breath in too deeply. "Dont suppose either of you can heal people can you?" I ask as Viv and Dorian catch up with me.

The Avvar swings his entire body into a turn, swiping the hammer at all of us as he spins. "Are you already dead?" Dorian asks, backpedalling a few steps to stay out of range as he works something a little more complicated than his usual fireballs, "no? sorry then, you're out of luck."

Vivienne doesn't try and move, she vanishes using some magic trick and lets the axe pass through where she's standing before fading back in, an ethereal blade in her hand that she jams into him. "Healing in combat requires a finesse I never bothered to learn," she says as she dispels the ghostly blade. The Avvar grins despite the blood trickling from where the blade entered him, he's not going down so easily, and I know she won't have time to move from his counterstrike. Then he bursts into flames that seem to start inside him and I watch as he hits the floor with a thump and a curl of smoke. That was mildly anticlimatic.

I sit down, or possibly the ground comes up to meet me. "Can you heal outside of combat?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"Shit. Sorry boss," Varric says as he jogs over. I wave a hand in his vague direction. Not his fault they actually had a decent archer that managed to get a shot off before he took them down.

"I can stop you from bleeding out if the arrow is pulled and make sure the bones are properly set. You'll have to use one of those potions to do the majority of the healing dear." I grimace. Using healing potions is like adding insult to injury. The taste lingers for hours and it is not pleasant.

I should be appreciating the near free access to such potions. Anyone can make up a herbal poultice, even dwarves, we always had plenty of them. Proper potions though, they take magic in the brewing. It's one thing the Carta is always short on. Now I'm thinking about that, I have to wonder if I could accidentally redirect some. I'll need to think on that a little more. If I can get somebody into the quartermasters team I might be able to just adjust the numbers a little. That could... "Fucking sodding nughumping bronto shit." I hiss out. Distracting myself can only go so far and the feeling of ribs shifting is distinctly unpleasant and rather unique.

"Drink this."

I blindly reach out for the vial and down it in one. It takes a long moment before my breathing eases. "Ouch."

"One broken rib and two fractured," Vivienne says, "I don't recommend doing that again darling."

"Want a souvenir?" Varric asks, holding out the broken arrow he just pulled out of me.

"I'm good thanks."


End file.
